Burning Up
by memorysdaughter
Summary: While out at the cabin, Skye gets sick, and Simmons comes to fix it, but it soon becomes clear Skye's sicker than anyone thought possible.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This came out of me wondering what happens what would happen if Skye gets sick out at the cabin... and wanting desperately to fix the Simmons-Skye relationship.

I'm open to continuing if there's interest... otherwise this is a lovely one-shot. Enjoy!

* * *

At first it's not so bad. There's reading, and movies, and walking outside, and looking at the stars. And it's very quiet, so when she feels the need to step outside and scream until her lungs are raw, scream up at those winking dots of misfortune, she's glad no one can hear her.

She gets very good at cooking macaroni and cheese. And roasting marshmallows – in the microwave.

She spends an inordinate amount of time staring at that case on the kitchen table. She hasn't moved it, hasn't opened it, hasn't touched it since Coulson left. She can't figure out what she wants to do with it – either shoot it or put those gloves on and become the good little earthquake in a bottle they want.

And there's all the things she has to keep up on: tai chi, and meditating, and training, and so forth and so on, until the days are full of a rhythm. A hideously boring rhythm, but a rhythm nonetheless.

Sure, there are tremors, and once after a rough night of screaming at the stars she manages to make the lake outside ripple like some sort of modern art installment, but for the most part, things are very still and calm.

Then, completely without her permission, something changes.

On a Tuesday she wakes up and it feels as though her throat was used to grate cheese. She wonders if she's been screaming at the stars too much. Then the coughing starts, and every cough ricochets off her fractures and through her broken fingers and the pain is enough to make her cry. After that the room around her goes in and out of clarity, and she curls up on the bed in the fetal position, a coughing, crying, aching, snotty mess setting off miniature quakes with every cough.

At some point – it could have been eight hours, it could have been six weeks – she hears the door open and assumes it's May, coming to bring her food, and closes her feverish eyes.

Then a cool hand brushes her forehead, and she hears a very British intake of breath. "Oh, you poor girl," Simmons murmurs. "You're sicker than Coulson thought."

"Go 'way," Skye mutters, curling in on herself. The last person she wants to see her like this is Simmons. The last person she wants to see _period_ is Simmons.

Then she coughs, and it shakes her chest wall and everything from her shoulders to her fingers aches and she finds that she's sobbing into her pillow. Before she knows it the bed is shimmying and the lampshade is twitching and Skye just wants to die. She closes her eyes.

"Shh, sweetheart," Simmons says, and the cool hand brushes her forehead again.

Skye opens her eyes and stares at Simmons exhaustedly. "You here to…" – she pauses to cough – "… _put me down?"_

The words hit their mark and Simmons' face falls. "I'm here to evaluate and treat your condition," the scientist says shortly. "Coulson thinks your illness might cause you to hurt yourself further."

Without a further word, Simmons opens the bag she's brought with her and moves into action. She sticks a thermo-strip on Skye's forehead and kneels beside the bed with a stethoscope, listening to Skye's lungs. Her fingers find Skye's pulse and for a long silent moment the room is still around them.

"You have a fever of a hundred and five," Simmons says after a moment. "And I can hear congestion in your lungs. I think you have a viral infection."

Skye coughs and winces.

"Is it difficult to breathe?" Simmons asks.

"Yes," Skye whispers. "My throat hurts."

Simmons removes the thermo-strip. "I'm recommending a treatment of painkillers, fever reducers, and aerosolized mist treatments to break up the congestion in your chest."

Her voice sounds kind for the first time in weeks and it's too much for Skye. The silverware starts clanking and the lampshades sway back and forth and the plates clank in the cupboard as she sobs.

"Shh, shh," Simmons says. "It's okay, Skye. I'm going to help you feel better. But you need to relax, all right?"

"Why?" Skye sobs. "_Why_ are you helping me?"

Some part of her knows it's stupid to ask, but she can't help the words falling from her mouth. "Just… leave me alone. I'm dangerous. I could hurt you."

"Right now you're sick," Simmons says. "I want to help you feel better. But first I need you to stop shaking, okay? I don't want you to do any more damage."

Skye starts to protest, to tell Simmons that the cabin has seen much worse over the last weeks, but she realizes Simmons is talking about her own body. She sucks in a croupy breath and the room settles around her.

"Good girl," Simmons murmurs. "I'm going to give you some medication, and then I want you to sleep."

She brings Skye two plastic cups of syrupy liquid medication – one green, one red – and a larger cup of water. "Drink these," Simmons says, and Skye sits up to take them from her, dangling her feet over the side of the bed.

The world spins around her and Skye thinks for a moment she's going to vomit on Simmons' sensible shoes.

"Easy," Simmons says gently. "Take a minute to breathe."

Skye's dizzy and she can hear her breathing pick up. The room feels like it's closing in on her and she looks up at Simmons, terrified, her chest aching as she tries to catch her breath, wheezing and gasping and choking.

"Skye," Simmons says, a little more firmly. "Listen to me – you need to calm down. Take a deep breath."

"I can't. I can't." Skye's quickly losing control. The lamp in the corner wobbles, then falls from the end table, shattering. "I can't. Make it go away," she begs Simmons. "Please, just make it stop. _Make it stop._"

Simmons gets down in front of her, puts her hands on her shoulders. "Breathe with me, Skye," she says, and together they breathe, Skye's raggedy and clogged trying to match Simmons' slow and gentle.

At last they're breathing together in sync, slowly, though Simmons can still hear the rasp in Skye's throat.

"Drink your medicine," Simmons says at last, and Skye doesn't protest. She swallows the gem-colored medicines and half the cup of water, finding that her eyes are getting heavy.

She wants to ask Simmons how she knew she was sick, why Coulson sent her, and if her mind's been changed on the idea of people with powers, but her breathing gets slower, and her eyes droop shut, and there isn't anything else she can do or say before sleep steals over her.

* * *

When she swims back up into consciousness, she can hear Simmons talking. "Her fever is still very high, sir, and last night I noticed that she's broken a rib from coughing and the tremors it causes. She's very ill."

"Stay with her, Agent Simmons," comes Coulson's voice. He sounds tinny and far away. "I'd like you to stay, ideally, until she's better."

"Yes, sir."

Coulson's voice gets a little softer. "How is she, Jemma?"

"She's… very ill, sir," Simmons repeats. "Last night she was delirious and she had a panic attack. I hope Director Fury wasn't too attached to the lamp with the milkmaid painted on it."

"I'll get Fitz on eBay to find him another," Coulson says. "Please tell Skye I hope she feels better soon."

"I will, sir."

Skye opens her eyes and watches Simmons approach the bed with a thermo-strip and a glass of water. "'S that Coulson?" she slurs, her mouth sticky, though she already knows the answer.

"Yes," Simmons replies. "He sends his regards."

She hands Skye the glass of water. "Drink this, and then I want to do a mist treatment to break up the junk in your lungs."

While Skye drinks the water, Simmons sticks the thermo-strip to her forehead, watching her with worried eyes. "Are you still in pain?"

Skye nods. "Everywhere."

She sets the glass of water down on the nightstand and notices her braces are off. Simmons catches her glance. "You ruptured some more capillaries last night," the Brit says. "I removed them to try and tighten the casts, make them more precise. I'm almost finished."

Skye looks down at the bluish-red mottling her fingers and feels nothing but pain. Pain everywhere. Her head, her chest, her fingers –

"Skye, breathe," she hears Simmons say.

"I can't," she whimpers. "I can't. It hurts and I can't make it stop."

The water wobbles.

Simmons crouches before her and puts her hands on her knees. "It's okay," she says. "We're going to get through this. I want to help you feel better."

"What does that _mean?"_ Skye grips her fingers, begging Simmons for something she can't even define.

"It means your fever needs to go down, we need to get the junk in your lungs broken up, and you need to rest and heal," Simmons says. "I know you're upset, Skye. Please let me help."

Skye is too weak to protest, and she finds herself back in bed with a mask over her face, breathing in some sort of medicated mist from a machine on the table next to her. Simmons brings over her casts and Skye holds up her arms while they go back on. Defeated, she closes her eyes.

At some point the mist treatment is over and Skye coughs and coughs and coughs. It hurts like hell and she breaks two glasses in the kitchen. Simmons gets her to drink two more nasty-tasting gem-colored syrups, and Skye falls asleep within minutes.

* * *

When she wakes again she's sweaty and disoriented and it's dark. She can see the light of a computer screen off in the darkness, and she sits up and tries to figure out what time it is.

As she pads into the kitchen, she hears Simmons' voice. "Fitz, she looks awful. I want to help, but I can't. She's getting worse and I don't know what to do. She has to cough to get the mucus buildup out of her lungs, but that aggravates her broken rib which aggravates all of her stress fractures and every time she coughs she breaks something and I'm scared for her."

"You can help her," Fitz's voice replies from the computer. "You're her friend, Jemma. I know she'll let you help her."

"Fitz," Simmons murmurs, and for the first time Skye realizes the Brit is about to cry. "When I got here and found her so sick, the first thing she asked me was if I was here to put her down."

"Oh, Jemma," Fitz says softly. "She didn't mean it. She was… uhh… with the fever…?"

"Delirious," Simmons finishes for him. "Yes, but still – to say something like that, it has to have been on your mind. Doesn't she… doesn't she know how much we love her?"

"She's trying to figure things out," Fitz says. "Help her physical symptoms heal and it's possible she'll let you help with the…"

"Emotional ones," Simmons says. "Thanks, Fitz."

The computer light blinks out, and Skye finds herself disoriented in the darkness. She wobbles unsteadily and feels her knees give out, dropping her to the floor.

A light comes on and Skye shies away from it, her eyes burning.

"Oh, Skye," Simmons says. "Come on, sweetheart."

Somehow Simmons gets her back in bed, and somehow Skye submits to another mist treatment. When that's finished she drinks more of the medicine, and lays in a fetal ball on the bed.

Simmons moves to leave, and Skye stops her. "Please don't go," she rasps out. Even though she's been terrified that Simmons is really there for some other purpose, her brain somehow registers that's a fever dream and not the truth. Now she's scared that Simmons is going to leave her in the middle of nowhere to die.

"Okay," Simmons says, a little confused, and she sits down on the bed next to Skye.

For a moment Skye just clings to Simmons' hand, her body trying to get her to go to sleep again. But she's desperate for conversation, for companionship, for someone to look at her like she's not going to bring the walls down around them. "Did Coulson make you come?"

"No," Simmons replies.

Skye looks at her, trying to see if she's lying.

"He could have sent someone else," Simmons says, "but we both agreed the situation was getting a little dire. You needed someone here who could… who could help you, someone you knew."

She looks upset, and says, "You were unconscious. For two days. We watched…"

Simmons shakes her head, hard, and Skye realizes she's crying.

"All I wanted… was for you to wake up," Simmons goes on. "We could see you were still breathing, we could see when you were shaking the house… Coulson thought you just had a cold, and you'd get up, and…"

She puts her head in her hands and sobs, and Skye feels even worse. Behind the calm scientist exterior, she's almost forgotten that Simmons is both human… and her friend.

"And then I told him I wanted to be the one to come and treat you," Simmons goes on. She tucks her hair back behind her ears. "Skye, I never wanted… I never wanted you to feel as though you were a pariah, like I wanted to put you down."

The words she'd uttered the day before come back to her and they hurt almost as much as her arms.

"When I saw you on the screen and you… you wouldn't wake up, I thought…" Simmons trails off. "That maybe you'd decided to do something about your situation."

For a minute Skye can't figure out what she means.

"And that this time, it wasn't an ICER."

* * *

Skye blinks back into awareness to find Simmons still on the bed next to her, running her fingers through Skye's hair.

"Your fever's down," Simmons says quietly. "Not back to normal but you're out of brain-frying range."

"Um, thank you," Skye says.

"All I did was stick a thermo-strip to your forehead."

"Not that," Skye says, reaching up to remove said strip. "For… for what you said last night."

"It's true," Simmons replies softly. "You are my friend, and after everything we've been through together, all I want is for you to be safe. And to know that you're not alone, and that we're going to help you figure things out."

Skye looks over at the case on the table and quenches a quake before it starts, even though it causes her chest to ache like it's on fire.

"Whatever you decide to do," Simmons says, "whatever choices you make – you'll have support. Coulson's, and Fitz's…"

She takes a deep breath. "And mine."

She leans forward and kisses Skye on the forehead, and for a moment the room spins around Skye again; she's dizzy from both the fever still boiling in her brain and the fact that since the first time she got out of quarantine, Simmons isn't looking at her like a science experiment.

Everything will take time to heal – her viral infection, her broken body, and her relationships with the rest of her family. But as Skye drinks down another medical cocktail, puts on the plasticky mask, breathes in the medicated mist, and prepares to cough until her other ribs break… or until she destroys every knickknack in Fury's cabin, she realizes for the first time it all might be possible.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** There was such an overwhelmingly positive reaction to the first part of this that I thought I should probably write some more. Unfortunately, I will be working for the majority of the weekend and I don't know if I'll have a new chapter up until maybe Tuesday, so I figured I would give you all this little bit while I work on the next chapter.

Enjoy!

* * *

Overnight Skye's fever spikes and she rocks back and forth in the bed, babbling and screaming. She can hear Simmons moving around the room, trying to bring down the fever, but she can't seem to figure out how to communicate rationally. Her fingers grip the blanket on the bed as sweat drips down her face. Around her she can hear things wobbling and shaking, and every part of her body aches.

"Please, Jemma, _please_," Skye begs. She doesn't know what she's asking for, only that she desperately needs something, _anything_. "Please, please make it stop."

"I'm trying," Simmons says. "You have to believe me, Skye. I'm trying."

Skye can feel her airway closing off, clogged with mucus, and she panics, trying to cough her way back to breathing. Her ribcage shoots daggers of pain into her lungs and it feels just like drowning. She reaches out for Simmons, or the blurry blob she thinks is Simmons, and sways on the bed.

Simmons catches her and Skye cries out in pain. From the kitchen she hears something crash to the floor.

A cup comes to Skye's lips, smelling of medicine, and she gags.

"Swallow it, Skye," Simmons says. "Drink, please."

It chokes Skye and she can't breathe, but somehow the medicine drips down her throat. She hears the whir of the mist machine and she tries to fight Simmons off. "No. No more. _No more, _please."

"I'm going to clear your airway," Simmons says, and a thin plastic tube slips into Skye's mouth.

Her instincts kick in and she reaches up, trying to grab Simmons' arms, to fight off her attacker. She swings at Simmons and thinks she's successfully connected when a sharp arc of pain rings across her head, not realizing the pain was from Simmons' hand connecting solidly with her head. Her ears ring and the room stops shaking.

"Skye," Simmons says, her voice very low, "the tube is to suck mucus out of your mouth and throat. If you'd like to breathe without vomiting, I suggest you let me do it."

Something in Skye gives in, and the tube goes back into her mouth. For a long minute she feels like she's drowning all over again, and then there's a pinhole-sized break in the mucus and cool air rushes down her throat.

"Oh," she says faintly when the machine stops humming.

"Skye, I want you to listen to me," Simmons says. "You are too agitated. Your fever is dangerously high again, and your coughing is causing more ruptures and fractures in your arms and chest. I want to give you a sedative, some supplemental oxygen, and let you sleep. I can administer painkillers and fever reducers."

"No," Skye protests. "No, please. Please don't put me to sleep."

Her teeth are chattering and she's crying again.

"Not to sleep," Simmons says, realizing that would be a terrible way to describe it. "I want to give you a medicine that will relax your body. You're already very tired and your illness is stressing your system. I'm worried that you will crash, and I honestly don't have the tools to help you if that happens."

"I don't want to go to sleep," Skye sobs. "I don't want to go back in the dark."

Her hands flutter up towards Simmons and she rocks back and forth.

"I will stay with you," Simmons says, trying to stay very calm. "I will be right here. You can call Coulson and ask him – he'll tell you the same thing. I will not go anywhere. I will stay right by you while you rest."

Skye's teeth chatter and she can hear the pans in the kitchen cupboard clanking against each other. The spears of pain are back in her chest, radiating down her spine, and she feels like a Halloween decoration, a skeleton ready to collapse in on itself, to be folded away in a box.

"Coulson," she says, clinging onto one word she recognized in Simmons' speech.

"We can call him," Simmons says, nodding.

"Then sleep?"

"Then I want you to rest," Simmons agrees.

"You'll stay?"

"I'll be right here."

Skye's eyes droop closed and she sways. Simmons catches her. "Let's call Coulson."

The director pops up on the computer screen almost immediately. "Hi, Skye," he says gently.

"I don't want to go to sleep!" Skye sobs to him.

"It's just to let your body rest," Coulson says. "Simmons will be right there with you."

"I don't want to be in the dark," Skye sobs, shaking. She can see Simmons out of the corner of her eyes, wringing her hands. "Don't put me back in the dark."

"A hundred and five temperature, sir," Simmons says softly. "It's getting difficult for her to breathe and she's broken at least one more rib coughing."

Skye looks down at her hands, bruised beyond recognition, and then back at Coulson. "I want to go home," she pleads, though her fevered brain has no idea where that is. "Let me come home."

"Skye, you are safe with Simmons," Coulson says gently. "She's going to take care of you so that you can get stronger and come home. Rest, please. Simmons will stay there with you. She'll make sure it's not dark."

"I don't know where I am," Skye sobs to Coulson. "It all hurts."

"Let Simmons help," Coulson says. "She can make the pain go away."

The room tilts and Skye sees the next few movements in long, slow blinks. Simmons has her arm around Skye and they somehow get the last ten feet to the bed. Skye tenses her body, preparing for the crash into the bed, and lets out an unearthly howl as pain ricochets through her.

She blinks again and Simmons is settling an oxygen mask over her face, tethering her to the bed with a long, thin tube. Another blink and Simmons is approaching her with a syringe.

"Not in the dark," Skye begs.

"No," Simmons reassures her softly. "Not in the dark."

"Trip's in the dark," Skye says. "Trip was in the dark and now he's _gone_."

Simmons halts, the syringe inches from Skye's arm. For a long moment she can't figure out what to say. Then, as gently as she slides the needle into Skye's arm, she says, "We'll talk about that when you wake up."

One more blink, eyelids going down slowly and definitely, and then Skye doesn't blink again.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** I can't handle my feelings about what's happening on MAoS right now, so I'm writing more of this sick!Skye fic. I hope you'll like it.

* * *

Her next breath in is full of dust and it clenches in her throat. Her eyes open and she sees, heart sinking, the temple around her. Raina, in the corner, her hand still reaching for the Obelisk. Skye wheels to the side, hoping, _praying_, that somehow Trip had been left out in the corridor. That she wouldn't have to watch him die again.

"Skye," he says, and her heart contracts like there's a fist squeezed around it. His voice. His voice that she thought she'd never hear again. God, she misses it. "Skye, what's happening?"

"I don't know," she says, although this is clearly a lie. She wants to scream at him – _Trip! Run!_ – but somehow her voice isn't working.

She feels more than she hears or sees Trip draw his gun. He's got a bead on Raina and the Obelisk, and Skye wants to tell him not to bother. That it's too late… too late for Raina, too late for her, and definitely too late for him.

"Please, Trip," she whispers. "Go. Run."

"I'm not leaving you here," he says, and gestures to Raina. "What the hell is this thing going to do?"

The girl in her flowered dress gives them her sultry, sly smile. "It's time to meet your destiny, Skye."

Skye's brain isn't working. Most of her knows she's still back in the safe house, running an ungodly high fever, but these images before her are so convincing. And she doesn't want to go through the mist again. Doesn't want to remember what led her to end up at a safe house, isolated for her own protection and the protection of everyone else, running that ungodly high fever, waiting to die on the kitchen floor. Doesn't want to think about quarantine, about the fighting, about the gun exploding in her hand. Just wants to stop thinking altogether.

"Trip, no," she manages to say. "Don't shoot it."

There's no way of knowing whether or not she can change things in this fever dream, but she has to try.

"Skye, I'm not letting this whack job hurt either of us," Trip replies, just as she knew he would.

"It's too late," Raina says. "It's already begun."

As it turns out, she's right – the mist is pouring from the Obelisk and the cocoon is clouding Skye's vision, breaking up just in time for her to see Trip crumble into pieces while the entire temple shakes around them.

Skye screams as the temple goes dark around her…

* * *

… and wakes with Simmons' hand on her wrist, a burning sensation in her lungs, a swimming sensation in her head, and the sudden all-consuming fact that she needs to vomit.

"Breathe, Skye," comes a soft British voice. "Please breathe."

"Help," Skye manages to get out. "Help."

A light snaps on and Skye rears away from it; the sudden motion exacerbates everything she feels, including the overwhelming nausea. She wobbles out of bed, tripping and stumbling, and manages to grab the nearest receptacle – a big mixing bowl – before she has to throw up.

She retches and vomits and heaves, the world spinning around her. Her chest aches and her eyes burn.

But then it stops, and she's on the floor gasping, breathless, aching, mumbling.

"… can't bring him back. Bring him back, _please_, _please.."_

Skye reaches up, her vision blurry, desperate for Simmons' hand in hers, desperate for anything to pull her out of the ocean of pain she's drowning in. "Please. Hold. Please. Can't. Can't breathe. Can't."

She hears Simmons talking, but the words sound foreign and out of place. Skye coughs and vomits again. She can hear herself whimpering and moaning, but she's somewhere above her body.

"Coulson, she needs a med-evac," Simmons says as she kneels down next to Skye. "She's hallucinating, the whole cabin is shaking, and she just started vomiting."

"I'll send May." Coulson's voice comes from somewhere above the puddle of misery that is Skye's body.

"We won't be able to treat her at the base," Simmons goes on. "She needs to be seen in a specialized facility."

"I'll see what I can do," Coulson says. "Worst case scenario, we get her back here and fly someone in to treat her."

"Sir, wait," Simmons says. "With the way she's causing tremors, there's no way we'd be able to keep the plane in the air."

"I'll figure it out," Coulson says.

Skye coughs and retches; the room gets spinny and dark around her. "_Please_," she whimpers to Simmons, but she doesn't have the time to complete her request before she slips back into the abyss.

* * *

She's standing at the edge of the football field, frozen, watching her father as he strides across the grassy expanse towards Coulson. She wants to scream, to tell Coulson to watch out, but her voice is frozen in her throat. Her body's frozen, her feet are frozen, her arms are locked in towards her body and they throb with spears of pain.

She's powerless to watch as Cal comes within five feet of Coulson; she's still trying to will her body to move, her voice to work. A whimper escapes from her lips but it's swallowed up in the throbbing in her head. She reaches out a trembling hand, her fingers crackling and bruising even as she tries to stop it.

"No," she chokes out, just before Cal reaches out for Coulson. "_No!"_

There's a split second of silence and then the world collapses around her. The ground shakes, the earth quakes, and the pain threatens to split Skye's ribcage in half.

She looks up to see Cal and Coulson, May and Andrew and all of Cal's various ragtag killers, slam into the ground. The impacts shake her chest wall and she gasps. "No. _Oh, no._ I didn't mean… I didn't mean…"

All is still. Nothing on the field is moving any longer, except for Skye's chest, heaving with every painful breath she can get in.

"Please get up," she begs. "Please get up."

There's no response. She's alone on the football field, alone with the dead bodies of everyone she loves.

* * *

Skye wakes up screaming. Her body jackknifes in, her hands fly up to cover her ears. She coils into a ball, her breath slicing hot spears through her chest.

"Skye." She hears a soft but firm voice. _May_. "Skye, I need you to relax. Breathe _in_… breathe _out…"_

It's just too much. The noise and the pain and the hot tears streaming from her eyes – they've all combined and Skye's world is crashing in around her.

"Skye, if you can't breathe and relax, we'll have to ICE you again."

That breaks through and Skye forces a slow breath down her sore throat. On the next breath she feels her arms and legs unclench slightly, and on the breaths after that she finds that she can bring her arms down from her ears. She blinks and looks over at May, but her SO is blurry, like a painting left out in the rain.

"Wha'… wha'…?" Skye tries to ask, but her mouth won't cooperate.

"You're in a hospital," May says. "In an oxygen tent."

"Wha'?" Skye knows she sounds like a broken record, but she's having a hard time processing everything.

May's blurry face gets closer to Skye's, and for the first time Skye can see the plastic between them. "We got to the cabin just in time. You stopped breathing and you'd gone into convulsions. Your fever was a hundred and eight."

"Coul…" Skye tries to get out.

"Coulson's here," May says. "We're all here."

"Simm…"

"I can send her in," May says. "But you need to stay very calm. You're not out of the woods yet, and you've got a long way to go."

"How'd… here…?" Skye blinks, and her eyelids feel as though they weigh a thousand pounds each.

"Simmons ICED you," May replies. "She had to, Skye, you were bringing the house down around you."

"Sorry," Skye whispers.

May doesn't say anything, but the look in her eyes seems to suggest to Skye that the younger woman has nothing to apologize for.

Skye closes her eyes and when she opens them again, May is gone and Simmons is next to the oxygen tent's clear side. "Hello, Skye," the Brit says gently. "How are you feeling?"

_Hot. Scared. Achy. Confused. Nauseous._ Words flit through Skye's head but she can't get them to come out of her mouth. "Tired," she mumbles.

Simmons nods. "That's to be expected."

She goes through a long series of sentences describing Skye's treatment – "big gun" antibiotics, IV fluids and nutrition, heavy-duty mist treatments, chest physiotherapy, and heavy-duty painkillers – that Skye only hears part of. She's still thinking about Trip, and her father, and how Coulson and May looked when they were dead on the ground.

Skye doesn't realize she's shaking until Simmons' face gets closer to the oxygen tent. "I'm so sorry, Skye," Simmons says. "I should stop talking and let you rest."

Skye tries to keep her eyes open, but she can't fight the exhaustion and the rattling wheeze in her chest. "Coul…" she gets out.

"He's just out in the hall," Simmons says.

Skye doesn't stay awake long enough to see Coulson come into the room, but the next time she floats back to the surface, she's aware of his hand on hers, of his solid presence in the chair next to her.

It's just enough to lower her heart rate, and she slips back into the darkness and whatever's waiting for her there.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** AoS right now is feelings on top of feelings. And on top of that, I had the worst day ever at work. So here's more of this.

* * *

She runs down the hallway of the Playground, the ground fissuring and fracturing under her feet. She feels sick and dizzy and she can't figure out where everything went so wrong. There's lights and darkness and that damn music box –

_Daisy, Daisy…_

Overhead an alarm starts blaring. Skye can feel her breathing speed up, getting ragged in her chest. Her hands feel numb and she looks down at them, unsurprised to see the bruised and mangled arms she possesses in real life.

"What am I looking for?" she murmurs. It's getting harder to breathe.

A door opens behind her and she whirls around, everything in her body tensing to fight.

"Coulson?"

"What are you doing here?"

"I… I don't know."

"Who gave you permission to be here?"

"Uh, no one, I guess… I was just…" She can't breathe. The hallway gets spinny around her and she wants to throw up. "Please, Coulson…"

She's sinking to the floor and he's looming over her, hands out as though he's going to choke her.

Skye sucks in one last ragged painful breath and surrenders to oblivion.

* * *

"She's not responding to the treatment," Simmons says softly, watching as Coulson shifts in his chair. His hand is still looped in Skye's, even though the girl has been unresponsive for several hours. "We're running out of options."

"There's always… always something," Fitz says. "You'll figure it out."

"I don't understand it at all," Simmons says.

Fitz touches her shoulder gently. "Let's talk it through. We'll find a solution."

Simmons sighs and shakes her head. "I can't think about it, Fitz. I can't…"

May comes up the hallway behind them and hands Simmons a folder full of printouts. "Test results," she says. "Any progress?"

"Not much," Fitz says as Simmons buries her head in the information. "She's been… um…"

He waves his hand at the window separating the three of them from Skye and Coulson.

"Sleeping?" May offers.

"No," Fitz says, and touches his chest. "Um… the…"

"Coughing," Simmons fills in, still focused on the paperwork.

"Yes," Fitz agrees. "Coughing. A lot of coughing."

May looks from scientist to scientist. "Is it safe to go in there?"

Fitz nods.

"Go ahead," Simmons agrees. "Coulson could use a break."

Coulson looks up as May enters. He looks haggard.

"Go get some coffee," May says.

"She wants me to…"

"She's unconscious, Phil," May says, not unkindly. "Has been."

He rubs his face with his free hand.

"She won't know the difference," May goes on. "For ten minutes."

Coulson gives her a look, but eventually he disentangles his fingers from Skye's and stands up, straightening his rumpled suit. He runs a hand through his hair. "We're going to lose her. We shouldn't have sent her away."

"Go get some coffee," May says in a voice that brooks no argument.

Apparently somewhat chastened, Coulson leaves the room.

May sits down in the chair he's vacated and looks at Skye. Under the plastic sheeting of the oxygen tent Skye looks tiny, like a child. Her lips are split and cracked, and May can hear a whistle every time Skye breathes. IVs are sunk into both of her bruised hands, threading down beneath her casts. A clip on her ear pulses with red light, sending Skye's vital signs to a monitor beside the bed. Her pulse bounces between 140 and 150 beats a minute, and her temperature reads as 104.5. Despite the oxygen tent, her saturations are dropping, heading through the high 80's and lower – though May knows that for a young, healthy person like Skye, they should be 100%.

It's all wrong.

The door opens and Simmons comes in, looking worried.

"What is it?" May asks.

"She's working harder to breathe," Simmons says.

As though responding to the Brit's words, Skye's body jerks in on itself as the girl starts coughing. It's deep, ragged, gut-wrenching coughing, and it sets off all sorts of alarms.

Simmons steps forcefully around May and swiftly detaches the oxygen tent from the hospital bed. Skye is still coughing, her eyes open and wild. She looks up at Simmons, fear and pleading somehow conveyed in one look. Simmons takes the suction wand from the wall above the bed and tries to clear Skye's airway.

Skye coughs and gags as the suction tube brings up clots of mucus and blood. The blinds in the window start to shake, setting off little _ting_s as they come in contact with the glass.

May leans forward and takes Skye's hand firmly in hers. "Skye, breathe," she says firmly. "Focus and center. It's all noise in the background."

Simmons finishes clearing Skye's throat and mouth and steps back. The coughing seems to have stopped, and Skye looks up at her, as winded as if she'd just run a marathon.

"Dark," Skye rasps out. "In the dark."

"Skye, I've just spoken with the doctor," Simmons says, choosing for the moment to ignore Skye's fever-driven rambling. "He's concerned about your airway collapsing because you're trying so hard to breathe. He wants to give you some support."

"What does that mean?" May asks quietly.

"We can try a positive-pressure system," Simmons says. "That'd be a mask over your face."

"Or…?" May senses there's more.

Skye grips the side rail of the bed and her next breath brings tears to her eyes.

"Or we sedate you and intubate you," Simmons goes on, somewhat reluctantly. "The way we did when…"

And there she stops, unable to go any further.

Skye shakes her head, whipping it back and forth. "No, no, _no_," spills from her mouth.

"Skye," Simmons says, and she shakes her own head, trying hard not to cry. "You need help to breathe."

"Not… in… the dark," Skye spits out. "Not… back…"

She coughs and gags, but before she can tell Simmons _not_ to put her on a ventilator, pain slices through her chest, so deep and all-consuming that it blinds her, and she sinks back into the waiting void.

* * *

When she opens her eyes again she's strapped to a table, a bright spotlight shining down on her and blinding her. She can tell there's someone walking around the outside of the light, and there's something menacing about the footsteps.

"Well, well, well. We meet again."

And there's something menacing about that voice – it's Ward.

"Funny how power changes people. Last time I saw you, you had all the power. I was a rat in a cage and you could do anything you wanted."

Skye tries to wiggle an arm free, but it's as though she's been glued to the table.

"Cut off my food, deny me water, even let Fitz turn off the ventilation system. Videotape me, shock me – hell, who knows? You held my life in your hands."

His voice gets slightly louder as he approaches her head. "And now the tables have turned."

He leans in and Skye can feel his breath, hot against her forehead. Her stomach roils and she wants to run.

"I've learned things about you, Skye."

He's said that before, but now Skye knows it's true. He knows exactly what has happened to her, who she is.

Or maybe he doesn't. Maybe he's bluffing. Skye can feel her power surging through her veins, that torrent of bees aching to be free, and she wonders how much time it would take for her to kill Ward with an earthquake.

It starts slowly, building like a rolling boil, and she can feel the walls around them wobbling. Then the floor joins in, and the table she's on starts moving in tiny increments, side to side. Overhead the light sways.

_Daisy, Daisy…_

Ward's leering face leans in. "I knew you were a monster," he says.

_Daisy, Daisy…_

_Monster!monster!_

The bees surge, the earthquake builds, and everything comes crashing down around them.

* * *

It's late when everything finally settles down. Simmons doesn't realize Fitz is next to her until he holds out half a sandwich. "'S peanut butter 'n jelly," he says. "Not as good as yours, but I'm very pleased with my knife skills."

Simmons takes the sandwich wordlessly.

"You made the right call," Fitz says quietly.

"It doesn't feel like it."

"You heard the doctor," Fitz says, still trying to fix this. "Her saturations were tanking and she was… uh…"

"Oxygen-starved," Simmons finishes for him. "I know, Fitz."

"And she has pneumonia," Fitz goes on. "She wasn't going to get better without some help."

Mechanically Simmons raises the half sandwich to her mouth and takes a bite, considering Skye's immobile form on the bed in front of them. Their friend is now tethered to the bed with a mélange of tubes and wires, and a big gray machine next to the bed pushes air in and out of Skye's lungs through a tube dropped down her throat.

"She didn't want it, Fitz," Simmons says around the mouthful of sandwich. "She asked me not to."

"She's delirious," Fitz says, and he squeezes her hand.

"She's scared," Simmons murmurs. "And now she's in the dark for good."

"Not for good," Fitz says. "Just until she heals."

"Skye doesn't know that. She only knows she's in the darkness – it could be a day or it could be forever, but it'll feel just like forever. I don't want her to be scared, Fitz."

And Simmons rests her head on Fitz's shoulder, and finally allows herself to cry.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Because I am a horrible terrible person, I planned out the rest of this story and it's going to be equal parts heart-breaking and soul-stomping. Once the ideas starting coming, they just wouldn't stop. I think I'll have about five or six more chapters, so buckle in for the ride.

Thanks to all the readers and reviewers, and everyone who takes the time to add this story/me as an author to their alerts and/or favorites. I love getting reviews and messages. This chapter and the narrative for the rest of the story was partially inspired by a review from Salkri Kachemench, so thank you!

Enjoy!

* * *

Skye opens her eyes in the familiar landscape of the Cage, and for a long moment she wonders if she's been dreaming. Wonders if everything has been a complete fabrication of her mind.

Then she realizes she's tied to the bed. Restrained somehow, and as much as she wiggles, she can't get the tight straps to release even a fraction of an inch.

She wonders if it would be wrong to call for help, wonders if she really wants to find out who would be coming to "help" her.

As it turns out, she doesn't have time to make a decision before the door opens, revealing Simmons.

"Jemma! Thank God!" Skye says. "Someone tied me up. Can you help me?"

"Oh, I can help you," Simmons says. Her voice is odd. Too flat.

Skye furrows her brow. Simmons carefully approaches her, pulls the table away from the desk, and sits down, facing Skye.

"Could you… um… perhaps help me get up from the bed?"

"Why do you need to get up?"

Skye doesn't have a good answer to that. "I'm thirsty," she hazards.

"Me too," Simmons replies.

Her behavior is more and more puzzling, and Skye can't figure out what she's supposed to be doing. All she knows is, everything about this scenario feels wrong.

"I'm thirsty for a new kind of world," Simmons goes on. "A world where people like me don't have to be afraid of people like _you_."

Icy fear stabs into Skye's heart.

"People who could kill us with their bare hands, with a single movement, maybe without meaning to but still with some kind of malice in their hearts."

Skye wriggles, trying to loosen the straps around her.

"Freaks. Weirdos. People who were _not_ meant to be. You're anomalies in the system and you're dangerous. You're a threat. And threats need to be eliminated."

Now Skye thinks she's going to vomit. This isn't her Simmons. This isn't _any_ version of Simmons.

"Jemma, please," Skye says, her voice weak and cracking. "It's me. Your friend. Skye."

"You're not my friend," Simmons spits. "You're not anyone's friend. You're a threat."

Skye can feel the angry bees sensation starting in her toes, and the nausea increases. The Cage spins around her and she feels hot and sweaty and, oddly enough, embarrassed.

"And threats need to be eliminated."

Simmons stands up and walks closer to the bed. "I promise it won't hurt. Much."

Without further discussion, Simmons raises a gun Skye somehow missed in her terror and fires it. Skye's heart leaps in her throat and adrenaline courses through her body – she only has a second of panic, though, and then everything goes black.

It could be minutes later, it could be years later, but she blinks her way back to consciousness. She's still restrained, but now she's in the Bus's lab, looking up at the ceiling, her eyes burning from the bright lights.

"Oh, good, you're awake." Simmons' voice sounds cheerier, but she approaches Skye with a large syringe and an ICER, and both look menacing in her hands.

"Jemma, please," Skye tries again. "Please don't do this."

"I'm a SHIELD agent," Simmons says. "It's what I have to do to keep the people I love safe."

"I _am_ the people you love," Skye protests, and hot tears flood her eyes. "Back in the real world… or… wherever it is, you're taking care of me. I'm sick and you came to help me."

"We are in the real world," Simmons says coldly. "And you are sick. And I am going to help you."

Skye tries to trigger an earthquake, trying to see if she could drop something on Simmons' head. Nothing happens, and panic must be evident on her face, because Simmons smiles the coldest, angriest smile Skye's ever seen. "I see you trying," Simmons says. "It won't work."

She raises the ICER, dead level with Skye's eyes.

"I've been ICEd before," Skye says. Desperation and nausea are sloshing in her stomach and she can't tell what feels worse, those awful feelings or watching Simmons' eyes.

"Yes, that's true," Simmons says. "But never with this version of the dendro-toxin."

Skye tries to take a deep breath.

"I'm going to paralyze you," Simmons says. "Take away your ability to move but leave you able to feel _everything_. I want you to realize what it's like when someone I love gets hurt by a freak like you."

She uses the ICER to gesture to a table next to Skye's restrained form, indicating a large syringe. "And then, when you're locked into your own horrible body, I'm going to set you free. Stop your heart the way you stopped Trip's."

Acid arcs up Skye's throat and she thinks she's actually going to vomit. "Jemma…" she manages to get out. "Jemma, you _know_ that wasn't my fault."

"Just like you to never take responsibility for your actions. Trip went down there to _save_ you, and you _killed_ him."

"No, no," Skye cries. "No, it wasn't my fault. I had nothing to do with it."

"Lies!" Simmons yells. "All _lies_!"

"No," Skye chokes out. "Please, it wasn't my fault. It wasn't. I didn't want any of this."

"None of us wanted any of this," Simmons says. "But we all have to make choices now."

She raises the ICER again and fires. The blue pulse sends jolts through Skye's body and she squeezes her eyes shut, feeling tears run down her face. "Please," she whispers.

It's just as Simmons had claimed – within seconds Skye can no longer move. Her breathing gets slower and slower and she can't blink. All she can do is watch Simmons, the Brit moving around the lab, gathering supplies and putting things away.

Skye tries to get her mouth to move, tries to start an earthquake with her mind. All she feels is emptiness and rage.

"I won't let it last long," Simmons says, and her voice is oddly gentle. She moves closer to Skye, so they're looking directly in each other's eyes. "Trip didn't deserve to suffer and neither do you, no matter what I think."

Skye feels the needle slip into her arm and then it's as though she's exhausted, as though she's been awake for thousands of days. She finds that she's able to blink, though all she wants to do is keep her eyes open.

_Blink._

Simmons standing up.

_Blink_.

Simmons standing back.

_Blink_.

Simmons crossing her arms.

_Blink_.

_Can't breathe. Can't breathe. Can't –_

Simmons with some sort of smug satisfaction on her face.

And then one final blink, lowering her down into the darkness.

* * *

When the alarms start blaring, Simmons startles awake, jerking her head up from Fitz's shoulder. It takes a minute for her eyes to clear and focus, and then she realizes the issue – on the hospital bed before them, Skye's body is jerking and twitching, the girl lost in a seizure. She's setting off all the alarms – heart rate, the oxygen sensors on the ventilator, the apnea alarm – everything is ringing and dinging and blaring.

A doctor runs in, followed by two nurses, and they fly into motion. Simmons watches, feeling completely helpless.

"Her airway's pinching off, Doctor," one of the nurses says.

"Give her a moment," the doctor replies. "Let's get some Ativan on-board."

The other nurse nods and briskly goes about getting the medication. She slips it into Skye's IV port and they stand, watching for any change in the monitors.

Simmons doesn't realize that she's standing, shaking, until she feels Fitz's hand slip into hers, squeezing it tight.

On the cart next to the bed, bottles of medication and packets of supplies begin to wobble and rattle.

"Skye," Simmons says, her voice cracking. "Skye, you have to make it stop. Keep breathing. Think of May. May wants you to make it stop."

She doesn't know if Skye can hear her, lost in the fugue state of seizure and fever, but it's worth a try, before the quake brings the room down around them.

Fitz's voice joins hers. "Skye, relax and stop the shaking."

There's no way to know if it was their voices or the medication, but the medical supplies stop shaking. The room falls still around them, still ringing with the noises of the panicking monitors and equipment. Though the quake has stopped, Skye's still seizing.

"Another mig of Ativan," the doctor directs.

"Her airway, Doctor," the first nurse says.

Simmons knows what will happen if Skye's airway collapses, leaving her unable to breathe – they'll do an emergency tracheotomy right there in front of them, slice a hole in her neck and shove a breathing tube down it. The thought of it makes her weak in the knees.

Fitz senses something's wrong, and he pulls her back to a seated position. "What is it?"

Simmons shakes her head. She can't explain. The possibilities are too terrible to even speak aloud.

And then there's silence – the monitors falling quiet. Skye's body jerks one final time and then lies still on the bed.

Simmons finds the ability to stand and makes her way across the room, her whole body aching with fright. "Oh, Fitz," she whispers before she can stop herself.

Fitz is beside her in an instant, and she hears a soft gasp as he sees what she's seen – new bruises all over Skye's arms and neck. "She stopped the shaking," Fitz breathes in disbelief.

"But she couldn't make it stop on the inside." Simmons covers her eyes with her hand, hoping fervently that she'll wake up from this nightmare.

"We'll monitor her closely for seizures," one of the nurses says, touching Simmons' shoulder gently. "Her fever is still dangerously high, which could have triggered this one. Doctor Ullman is speaking to the treatment coordinators; he wants to use a cooling blanket to try and bring it down."

She says something else that Simmons can't process, something like an apology for Skye's condition, and leaves. It's just FitzSimmons in the room, feeling as bruised and battered as Skye's body looks as it struggles to survive.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N**: In a fantastic twist of irony, last night I came down with a high fever that left me mostly unable to move, whimpering in pain... so, I've now co-opted part of this story's plot. I can only assume earthquake powers are next. Stay tuned!

Thanks for all the reviews and favorites and etc. You guys make my day! Enjoy!

* * *

When the doctor brings the cooling system in, Simmons is waiting for him. Fitz is at Skye's bedside, gently stroking the most unbruised part of Skye's fingers that aren't covered by a cast or threaded through wires, tubes, or monitors.

"Why was the cooling system not made available earlier?" Simmons demands before the doctor can even get through the door. "Her fever was higher when we arrived."

"Honestly, Dr. Simmons, we weren't sure she was going to survive," Dr. Ullman replies. A tech follows him in and begins setting up the machinery. "A fever of a hundred and eight? We've never had a patient come back from that before."

"Skye's not just anyone," Simmons says.

"I understand," Dr. Ullman says. "That's obvious from her tests and her physical presentations."

He's got an edge in his voice, half-fear and half-sarcasm.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Fitz asks, looking up.

"It means she's not normal," Dr. Ullman says. A tech is wrapping blue pads around Skye's chest and upper legs. Fitz moves out of his way, blushing a little as the tech moves in to pull up Skye's gown. "According to her files she's got alien blood running through her veins and she's set off earthquakes through this entire facility."

"She's a SHIELD agent and she deserves your best care," Simmons says. "End of discussion. If you're unable to treat her, perhaps it's best you find someone else to do so."

"Oh, who? Like you?" The doctor practically sneers this. "You just waltz in here and demand things, think you're going to choreograph our every move. Do this, don't do this – it's like being a damn child again. You'd think this _freak_ is worth our time?"

A bottle of medicine on the cart on the far side of the room explodes, and the tech jumps and drops the tubing running to the cooling system. Skye's head lolls back and around the breathing tube Simmons swears she hears a moan.

"Skye, stop," Fitz says, his voice rising a half-tone with anxiety. "It's okay."

Skye's hands attempt to clench inward and two more bottles slam together.

"_Out_," Simmons says firmly to the doctor.

"Your director will hear about this!"

"He most certainly will!" Simmons replies heatedly.

Dr. Ullman throws his hands up and exits the room. The door catches as though in a breeze, and then slams, the glass in the window rattling in the pane.

"Skye, shh," Fitz soothes, touching her fingertips as softly as he can. "It'll be all right."

The door opens again and Coulson and May come in, both looking extremely upset. Coulson moves to Skye's bedside. May moves towards Simmons. "What the hell happened?"

"The doctor," Simmons manages to get out. "He just…"

She feels herself breaking down into tears again.

"He's off the case," Coulson says firmly. "Skye, I know you can hear me. Slow your breathing down, channel your power, relax – you're breaking expensive things and you _know_ we don't have a budget for that kind of stuff."

He says it as though it's a joke, which it sort of is, because he can't bear the tension in the room. He looks up at those gathered around Skye's bed – five of the original six, plus the tech that's caught between cowering in the corner and still setting up the cooling system.

"I'm almost done," the tech whispers, and flips a few switches. "It should… um… start working here soon."

When he finishes he bolts out of the room.

Coulson looks over at Simmons. "Can you explain a little further?"

"He said Skye's not worth saving," Fitz says softly.

The moan rises and Skye's fingers twitch in Coulson's hand.

"You're worth saving," May says firmly, and she leans in and brushes hair from Skye's forehead, then glances up at the monitors. "Her fever…"

"I know," Simmons manages to get out. "It's still too high."

Skye's fingers twitch again and she manages to curl her pointer around Coulson's thumb. Her eyes open and her gaze swims over Coulson's face confusedly. She tightens her grip on Coulson's thumb, and tries to mouth something around the breathing tube.

A plastic pitcher on the table starts rattling and wobbling.

"Shhh," Coulson says. "Don't try to say anything."

Skye's brow furrows and she jerks her arm up, tears filling her eyes.

"Please," Coulson says. "We understand you're upset and confused. We're getting you some help."

Skye shakes her head minutely and her head flops back. Coulson has just a handful of seconds to see fear and pain dart through her gaze, and then she's gone.

* * *

Skye lands on the mat, her breath slammed out of her. She looks up at May, terrified of the angry expression on her SO's face. Nothing in this dream world makes sense, and all of it hurts. Skye can't remember where she is – still back at the cabin? In that SHIELD hospital? Are they looking for her? Had something happened to Simmons?

She remembers, foggily, looking up at Coulson. Why couldn't he understand her? Why hadn't he done what she'd asked?

All she knows is, she isn't safe.

"Again," May orders, and exhaustedly Skye gets to her feet.

For a few moments they spar on the mat, fists and feet flying. May seems to be going at Skye as though they're locked in a fight to the death, and Skye knows it could turn into that almost immediately.

She blocks May's punch and attempts to sweep May's legs. May jumps forward, rolling and darting out of the way. Skye doesn't have time to track May's movements, she's breathing far too hard; May jerks forward and punches the back of Skye's knee.

Skye lets out an "oomph" and feels her body go slack like a puppet cut from its strings.

May's on top of her in seconds, her hands around Skye's neck.

"May," Skye wheezes. "May! Stop!"

"Should have done this a long time ago," May says, looking down at Skye. Her eyes are black marbles of hate as she presses down on Skye's throat.

"_May! Please!" _Skye struggles to breathe, struggles to get her arms up to fight May off. Her heart sinking, she sees only her bruised and broken arms, locked into those tight casts – they've been present in all of her hallucinations and it hasn't mattered before, but now she's really going to die because her arms are useless.

Except they're maybe not. Skye goes limp under May's grasp, dropping her arms to the mats.

It stops May for a split second.

Skye brings up one of her arms and whacks May across the head with it. Pain ricochets up her arm and spreads through her shoulder and chest, but the impact is enough to knock May off her trachea. Skye rolls to one side and tries to get to her feet. Her throat aches and she's dizzy as she stumbles towards the door, trying to be anywhere but trapped in the gym with her crazed SO.

A burning pain rips through her ankle and she falls to the mats. Pain blossoms through her leg and Skye turns to look at May. Her SO is standing four feet away, her gun still in her hand.

"You _shot_ me?"

"There's something we do with _things_ like you," May spits. "We put them down."

Skye tries to crawl towards the door. She has to get out. She _has_ to leave.

"I did it in Bahrain and I'll do it again." May moves closer, the gun still pointed at Skye.

"_Why?"_ Skye gasps out. "_Why_ do you all want to kill me?"

"We don't want to kill you," May says, and the gun gets closer. "We just _don't. Want. You. Anymore."_

May shoots, and a fresh spate of pain blossoms in Skye's chest. "You're an abomination. You're unnatural."

Skye shoves herself backwards a few inches, still trying to escape this inescapable situation. "You _saved_ me before," she gets out. "When Lady Sif wanted me to go to Asgard with her. You were willing to protect me then. What happened? I haven't changed!"

"No," May says, and then she's right in front of Skye. The gun looks even bigger. "No, you haven't changed. _We_ have."

Skye hears the final shot, but she closes her eyes so she can't see the hate in May's face.

"That's it," she hears May say as pain fizzles throughout her body. "Go to sleep. And don't wake up."

* * *

The ventilator alarm goes off and Coulson nearly falls out of his seat. A quick look at May confirms that she too was awakened by the sudden noise. His second look is to the bed, and it breaks his heart to see Skye lost in the throes of a seizure.

A new doctor, a female this time, comes running into the room with two nurses behind her, Simmons behind them. "How long?" Simmons asks.

"It just started," Coulson says.

"Her fever's still very high," the doctor says.

"You haven't given the cooling system enough time to work," Simmons says.

"What's the next step?" Coulson asks.

Simmons looks at the doctor.

"Hello, sir," the doctor says, stepping forward. "I'm Rose Mayerstein, and I've taken over from Dr. Ullman. I'd like to discuss your agent's treatment options."

"Can you fix this first?" Coulson asks, indicating Skye's seizing body on the bed.

Dr. Mayerstein nods to the nurses, who move into action. "We'll stop the seizure, but we have some difficult decisions to make."

Simmons moves to Skye's side and leans down, whispering something into her friend's ear. Coulson gives May a look.

"Let's go to the hallway," May says to the doctor. "I'll update Director Coulson once we've talked."

Dr. Mayerstein shakes her hand. "Sounds like a plan, Agent May. Please, step this way."

A drug in Skye's IV slows the seizure. At last the dark-haired girl falls limp on the bed. The room seems to collectively let out a breath.

Simmons is still crouched next to Skye, still whispering.

Coulson moves closer. He can't hear what Simmons is saying, but he can hear her frantic tone.

One of the nurses says something to the other, and Coulson loses the low beats of Simmons' whispers. "Can we make sure the seizures stop for good?" Coulson asks, turning to the nurses.

"It's… it's unlikely, sir, until the fever goes away."

Simmons straightens up. "She needs percussion."

Coulson gives Simmons a look. "I hardly think a drum set is going to solve our problems."

Her shoulders drop a scant inch or so, and he sees some of the tension dissipate from her face. "Oh, sir, that's… I should have expressed myself more carefully. Percussion treatment will knock loose the clots of mucus that are sticking to her lungs so that we can suction them out. That will help her to breathe easier while we track down the source of the infection and try to wipe it out."

"How did she get so sick so fast?" Coulson asks, his voice low.

Simmons shakes her head. "I don't know. But we can't change that. We can only try to make the best decisions going forward."

Skye's back arches and she flops awkwardly onto her side. She brings her arms up and her eyes slide open. Her expression is one of fear, and as Simmons and Coulson approach, she pulls back as far as she can, her lips moving around the breathing tube.

"Skye?" Simmons asks softly.

Skye's eyes go wide with terror and she pushes herself back further, her mouth wobbly, her hands shaking in her casts.

"Skye, it's Jemma," Simmons says. "And Coulson's right here with me."

Skye shakes her head, bringing her arms up as though to block anyone from seeing her.

"Skye, what's wrong?" Coulson asks, though he knows it's a stupid question. She can't communicate and she's clearly delirious, but he's desperate to know why she's so upset.

"It's going to be okay," Simmons says, and she reaches out and touches Skye's shoulder gently.

Panicked, Skye jerks her body away from the touch. Her arms slam together, and the lights overhead shatter.

In the dark Simmons can still hear the heart rate monitor – Skye's heart rate is through the roof, and judging from the jerking pulse under her fingers, Skye's breathing heavily. "What are you so afraid of?" she whispers to Skye.

Skye's arms fall to her sides and she again goes limp, all the fight gone out of her body, leaving Simmons and Coulson in the dark – both literally and figuratively.

"We have to fix her," Coulson says quietly.

"I'm trying," Simmons says as her heart sinks. "I just wish she'd try too."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** So, since I don't have TV, I have to wait until tomorrow to see the season finale of MAoS. Instead, I wrote this and watched a guy play video games on YouTube. Also, there were cookies.

I love this story... I don't know if that's an okay thing to admit, but I really am enjoying writing it and seeing all of your reactions to it. Enjoy!

* * *

Skye comes up for air and finds the room is still around her. No May, no Coulson, no Simmons. None of the people she's been terrified of. Just Fitz, in the corner, holding his tablet and looking right at her.

She can't tell if it's real or not.

She wants it to be real. Wants Fitz's calm, gentle eyes to be real, wants him to come and hold her hand and tell her things are going to be okay. Most of all she wants him to remain gentle Fitz, and not try to kill her or shoot her or choke her to death.

"Skye?" he asks gently. "'S that you?"

They've fixed the lights, she notices, or maybe she's in a different room.

Fitz stands up and brings his tablet over. "They've still got you on the breathing machine," he says, keeping his voice very steady and modulated. "There's another machine in here now that's shaking up the junk in your lungs to get it out, so you might feel a little squeeze around your chest every now and then. Do you understand me? Look up for yes, down for no."

She flicks her eyes up.

"Good," Fitz says, and he smiles. "Are you in any pain?"

Skye thinks about it. Emotional pain, yes, and she feels battered and bruised, mostly because she is. She can feel new fractures and new ruptures all up and down her arms and in her shoulders, but they ache with an odd kind of familiarity.

She flicks her eyes down.

"Okay," Fitz says. "I made something for you that might help you communicate while you've got that tube in your mouth."

He holds up what looks like two silvery stickers. "I'm going to put one over each of your eyes, and then you can type with your eye movements."

He leans in, and Skye hates herself for it, but she flinches.

"It's okay," Fitz says softly. "I understand how scared you must be."

And Skye believes him. She remembers the feeling of Fitz's arms around her on the floor of the quarantine chamber, rocking her back and forth, telling her things would be all right. She believed him then, and she believes him now. His touch is feathery on her forehead, though she realizes how high her fever must still be, because Fitz's fingers feel like cool angel's wings.

When he leans back he smiles, and holds his tablet up. "Okay, whenever you're ready."

Skye's eyes swim over the tablet. She feels hot and choked and nauseous, but the first thing she finds herself typing is "Scared."

"Scared of what?" Fitz asks.

"Dying."

"Oh, you're not going to die," Fitz says confidently. "You've got the top doctor in the hospital on your case now, that mad Dr. Ullman is gone, and Simmons is threatening to beat up anyone who won't help."

At the mention of Simmons Skye's heart rate pings up and she tenses, which sends ricochets of pain up her arms.

Fitz furrows his brow. "You all right?"

Skye forces herself not to cry, and she yells in her head not to close her eyes, not to go back in the darkness. She thinks of the meter on her wrist, and though she can't see it, she imagines her heart rate slowing, noise in the background. She lets the ventilator give her a breath and then she types, "In my head."

"Pain?"

Skye flicks her eyes down.

Fitz hesitates, trying to puzzle out her meaning. "Dying… in your head."

Skye flicks her eyes up.

"Like… uh…" He's stuck now, and Skye feels terrible because she knows the word he's looking for. "Like… dreams… but they're not real."

She flicks her eyes up. He'd gotten pretty close to _hallucinations_, and with their limited methods of communication, she'll let it go.

"And the people in your bad dreams are… us?"

Skye hesitates, then types, "Not you."

A small smile appears on Fitz's face. "Well, that's a relief."

Then he realizes what that means. "But… everyone else?"

She flicks her eyes up.

"Oh, Skye," he murmurs. "I'm sorry."

Skye can feel her head getting swimmy again, and she knows she's got limited time before the darkness sucks her down again. She forces herself to look at the tablet screen, and type out the word she'd been trying to mouth to Coulson. "Gloves."

This one really throws Fitz. "Your hands are cold?"

She flicks her eyes down.

He bites his lip.

The room wobbles, and Skye thinks she might vomit.

"Try again," Fitz says gently.

"Gloves," Skye types. She can feel her eyes burning. "Gloves. Gloves. Stop. Shakes."

Understanding dawns on Fitz's face. "No, Skye. You don't have to do that."

Everything tilts. Skye wants to tell Fitz that she isn't asking out of desire – she's asking out of necessity. "Fitz. Gloves. Now."

Pain ruptures through her chest and she unclenches her hands, sliding back into the dark.

* * *

A sharp foot slams into her rib cage and she whimpers as she flops against a cold cement floor. It's dark and she struggles to see the space around her, trying to figure out who's coming after her this time.

"Stay down," a voice hisses.

Something in Skye wants to fight, and she drags herself up, trying to pull herself across the floor away from her attacker.

"I said _stay down_," the voice roars, and strong hands reach down like clamps, yanking her up from the floor and tossing her like a rag doll against a wall.

Skye can't breathe. She can feel blood trickling down her lips and she fights down the urge to vomit. She recognizes the voice.

Cal comes closer, bends down next to her. "I told you no one would understand you after you changed."

_It's not true!_ Skye wants to scream. And yet in every hallucination she's had, one of her SHIELD family members is trying to eradicate her. They don't want her. No one wants her.

She sobs.

"There's a place for you," Cal whispers.

_Hell?_ Skye wonders.

"You can come with me, live with my kind. Freaks and weirdos, troublemakers and rebels – we'll protect you. Keep you from SHIELD."

His whisper sounds like a snake running down her back and Skye retches. Her whole body burns with pain.

"They don't want you," Cal hisses. "They're afraid of you. They'll lock you up, treat you like a criminal. With me you can be who you were truly meant to be."

He leans in and traces his fingers down her cheek. Skye shudders and retches again.

"Oh, Daisy," Cal murmurs. "You have so much to learn. So much you could be."

He pauses, hesitates, and Skye wonders if he's gone away.

Then his hands are on her again, lifting her broken body up from the floor, and throwing her back down again. "But you're still just nothing. Exactly who SHIELD wanted you to be."

Rage bubbles up in Skye's chest and she flings her hand out without thinking. A wave of power explodes from her hand – clearly they haven't got those damn gloves on her yet – and Cal goes flying back. He looks like a sack of dirty laundry as he tumbles end over end, and some part of Skye loves it.

Cal lands on the ground and for a long moment doesn't move. Then Skye hears something – he's laughing. Laughing the crazed, demented laugh of a crazed, demented madman. It scares her even worse than being thrown against a wall or kicked in the ribs.

"I knew that's who you were, Daisy," Cal wheezes, still laughing. "I knew you had darkness at your core."

She wants to make him shut up. Her arms throb, her head swims, everything hurts.

"You liked that, didn't you?" He's still talking, still amused. "You liked hurting me, didn't you, Daisy? I can tell you did. You want to hurt people with that gift. I can show you how to do that. I can…"

She reaches up again and _shoves_ another wave at him. There's a sound like a sack of cans tumbling down a flight of stairs, and then there's silence.

Skye pulls her knees into her chest and sobs, alone on the cold floor in the dark.

* * *

"That's preposterous, Fitz," Simmons says.

"Is it?" Fitz holds up his tablet for the gathered agents to read.

"She typed this?" Coulson asks.

Fitz nods. "I put dots between her eyes that sensed her muscle movements. She was able to use her eyes to move the mouse over the letters on the screen."

Simmons looks over at the window into Skye's room, as though she's forgotten that several techs are in the room, replacing the tubing and fluids and padding running through the cooling system. They closed the blinds, leaving May and Coulson and Simmons and Fitz standing in the hallway.

"Why does she want the gloves on?" Coulson asks, pointing to what Skye had typed.

"I don't know."

"Is that what she was trying to say to me earlier?"

"I think so," Fitz answers.

"It doesn't make sense," Simmons murmurs.

Fitz bites his lip.

"What's all this?" May asks, pointing to the things Skye had typed above.

"Oh," Fitz says. "Uh… when she's unconscious… she's having… um… the bad dreams that aren't real."

"Hallucinations?" Simmons offers.

Fitz nods.

"Hallucinations about us killing her?" Fitz can't figure out if May is upset or sad.

"No wonder she was so upset earlier!" Simmons laments. "When she saw Agent Coulson and me, she was so frightened that she caused a quake and broke the lights."

May purses her lips but doesn't say anything.

"If she wants the gloves on, let's give it a try," Coulson says. He looks around at the others. "It can't possibly _hurt_ her, could it?"

The door opens before he gets an answer, and one of the techs sticks his head out. "Sir, there's something you should see."

Another tech pushes past him, heading for the nurses' station at the end of the hall, moving at a fast clip.

Coulson heads back into the room and looks down at Skye. She suddenly looks tiny, and for a moment he doesn't notice what's changed. Then he realizes she has a trickle of blood running out of her mouth, down her chin, around the breathing tube. And her hand is up, shaking and bruised, as though she's trying to use her powers to get rid of someone.

"Skye," he says softly. "Skye, can you look at me?"

Her eyelids flutter, and she lets out a moan around the tube.

"Skye," he says, a little louder. "Skye, open your eyes."

The door opens and Dr. Mayerstein enters, followed by a nurse. "Agent Coulson? What's wrong?"

Coulson gestures helplessly to the blood running out of Skye's mouth. The nurse steps in and begins suctioning it out.

"It's possible one of her seizures caused the endotracheal tube to rub against the lining of her throat," Dr. Mayerstein says. "It's not common but it's not impossible."

She notices Skye's hand, still up and out, and steps forward carefully, trying to move it down. Skye fights it, her hand wavering, and Coulson finds he's holding his breath, praying to a God he's not sure he believes in, begging that Skye won't shove the doctor across the room or break another light.

The nurse stops suctioning and waits.

"Skye," Coulson says. "I talked to Fitz. He showed me what you typed. If you want me to put the gloves on, I want you to open your eyes and look up at the ceiling."

The room is very still. The blood starts running out of Skye's mouth again, and the nurse again steps in to suction it out. When the suction wand goes silent, Skye opens her eyes.

She looks right at Coulson.

"If you want me to put the gloves on…" he starts.

Skye raises her eyes to the ceiling.

Coulson's heart breaks, but he's a man of his word. "Okay," he says quietly. "I'll go get them."

He's almost out the door when Skye starts coughing and the monitors start wailing. He whips back around.

Skye shoves herself upwards and grabs the breathing tube from her mouth, coughing and drooling blood and mucus all over herself. The tube slides out far too easily, and she hacks and wheezes as it slips from her lips.

Dr. Mayerstein looks shocked. The nurse is frozen.

Skye looks up at Coulson, her hair wild, her IV lines trembling in her bruised and broken arms, blood dripping from her face like some sort of crazed demon. She looks like she belongs in a horror movie. "Gloves. _Now_," she rasps at Coulson.

He's too scared to do anything but obey.

He can hear the monitors going off again as he sprints from the room.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Okay, so, this isn't how I thought this was going to go, but after the season finale last night I realized what I really wanted to write today. There was going to be another chapter in between the last one and this one, but I felt like this needed to be written (and things changed in reference to what that mystery non-existent chapter would have been).

Anyway, I think after this I'll have one more chapter, or maybe two to make it to ten. I'll see how things go, how much more I have to say.

Thanks for all your support. Enjoy!

* * *

When he gets back with the case everyone else is in the room and Skye is still coughing. Simmons is next to her with the suction wand, and Skye keeps trying to push her away. Whether she means to or not, Skye's setting off little jolts of power towards Simmons whenever she tries to shove the suction wand away; Simmons calmly readjusts her position each time and continues suctioning.

"Keep going," Simmons says softly. "You're getting a lot of the junk up, I promise."

Fitz is making himself useful by passing towels to May, who is mopping up everything coming out of Skye's mouth that Simmons can't get with the suction.

When Skye sees Coulson, she reaches out towards him and garbles something that he assumes is "gloves."

She gags and retches and Simmons steps back. A wobble goes through the room and Skye folds in at the waist, struggling to breathe.

"Skye, are you sure about this?" Coulson asks.

She looks up at him, blinking like her eyes hurt. She looks exhausted, the skin at the base of her throat retracting every time she breathes. Coulson knows it's not a good sign. Only moments ago she had the strength to rip out her own breathing tube, and apparently almost every other piece of medical equipment – all with her hands in casts – and now she looks defeated, broken, chewed up and spit out.

"Gloves," she whispers to Coulson. "Please."

Heart breaking, Coulson opens the case and steps towards her. Simmons hands the suction wand to May and gently reaches in to remove Skye's casts. Skye whimpers and the room starts vibrating, but Simmons manages to get the first cast off. Coulson passes her the first glove and she slips it over Skye's bruised arm. Carefully they repeat the process for the other arm, Skye biting her lip and shaking her head fiercely as the second cast comes off.

The moment the gloves are on, something like a wave of calm passes through the room. Skye's pinched and tortured face relaxes, as does her bent and hacking body. She leans back against the bed, looking floppy and almost dreamy, and doesn't fight Simmons or May when they start to clean her up. Simmons clears out Skye's mouth and May gently wipes Skye's face.

"Going back," Skye whispers, her eyes drooping closed.

"Where are you going?" Coulson asks quietly.

A dopey smile crosses her face and she raises two of her fingers, powerless and somehow hopeful all at once. "Going to see a man about a girl," she replies, her voice dropping off into a slurry mess at the end.

And then she takes a deep, slow breath, her first since arriving at the hospital, and goes very still on the bed.

* * *

Simmons looks up at the monitors. Skye's heart rate falls, but in a slow and controlled manner. Within a few minutes it's at 60 beats per minute.

"What just happened?" Fitz asks. His voice sounds very loud in the very quiet room.

Simmons leans in and checks the temperature probe on Skye's ear. "Fever's a hundred and two – down at least four degrees since they started the cooling system. Whatever this is, it's progress."

She regrets those words only seconds later when one of the monitors goes off, showing that Skye's oxygen levels are dropping.

Dr. Mayerstein, who had entered the room shortly before Skye's descent into sleep, steps forward. "She did just forcibly extubate herself," the doctor says. "We can give her some breathing support until she's more comfortable breathing on her own."

"Fitz, let's go get some snacks," May suggests. "We'll let Skye rest."

"Oh… okay," Fitz agrees. "I could go for a chocolate bar. And maybe some crisps. And a cup of tea wouldn't be a bad thing -"

"We'll bring everyone back something," May says, and after washing her hands, she ushers Fitz out of the room.

Coulson sits back down in the chair he'd vacated earlier, and watches as Dr. Mayerstein and Simmons hook up tubes and wires, eventually placing a thick plastic mask over Skye's face that connects to a thick plastic tube.

"It's bilateral positive pressure," Simmons says to Coulson. "It'll support her breathing and if necessary we can ventilate her without putting the tube back down her throat."

Coulson doesn't respond for a moment, and Simmons takes the opportunity to scrub her hands. He looks over at her. "Is she really that scared of us, Jemma? Of what we think of her? Of what we might do to her?"

Simmons wipes her hands on paper towels and puts them in the trash. "The emotional part of my brain says yes, sir. That she's terrified we'll hurt her, or send her away, or let her become an experiment. But the science part of my brain knows that she has been delirious since we evacuated her from the cabin, in control of very little of what she's saying or doing. I don't know how that might affect what she perceives when she's unconscious. I'm surprised she was even able to type for Fitz."

Coulson leans forward and takes Skye's hand in his. He feels a little buzz of electricity, but that could just be his emotional state.

"Sir?" Simmons' voice is soft.

"Hmm?"

"I'm going to clean her up a bit," Simmons says. "Change her gown, comb her hair, find new blankets and sheets. I'll close the curtain for a bit, but you can remain in the room if you'd like."

Coulson feels like he can't move anyway, and so he nods. Simmons pulls the curtains around Skye's bed, and the two girls disappear.

For the next several minutes he can hear Simmons moving around, quietly explaining to Skye what she's going to do before she does it.

"Simmons?" Coulson says as he sees her feet come back to his side of the bed.

"Yes, sir?"

"What do you think she meant by that? Going to see a man about a girl?"

"I'm not sure, sir." Simmons hesitates. "But it seemed to calm her down dramatically. Maybe… maybe it's exactly what she needs."

* * *

Skye opens her eyes and knows immediately that she's safe. She's lying on a soft bed in a green room, and the space around her smells like lavender. Gray light comes in through the windows, and Skye can hear rain pattering on the roof overhead. The room is small enough that it sounds like it's raining right on her, and she loves that idea.

She slips out of the bed and slowly moves through the room. The house is beautiful, safe and warm, snug, obviously loved, decorated in green and soft earth tones. Skye belongs here. She's never seen the house before, but she knows she belongs.

She looks down at her body, expecting to see her hospital gown and gloved arms. Instead she's back in her normal casual clothes, the ones she was wearing the day before everything fell apart at the cabin, and her casts. Nothing seems wrong, though, and so Skye walks carefully down the stairs.

In the small but well-appointed kitchen the back door is open, and Skye sees lush green trees overhanging lapping water. It's obviously the ocean, but somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. Now she's positive she's never seen this place before, but even more convinced it's where she's meant to be.

A very familiar, very beloved voice floats through the back door. "Girl, you gonna stand in the kitchen all day or you gonna come out here and join me?"

Tears flood Skye's eyes and she practically sprints out the back door.

Trip is sitting in an Adirondack chair, holding a tall glass of something. Oddly enough, he's wearing the military uniform he sported the day he posed as General Jones. He raises the glass in Skye's direction, and his smile melts her heart. "Hey, girl."

Skye steps out onto the covered porch and he stands. She flings her arms around him, not even caring that they throb with pain. She just wants to hug him forever, to never let him go.

Trip leans back from the hug and brings his thumb up, gently wiping the tears from her eyes. "What's the situation, Shake-n-Quake?"

The nickname brings a smile to Skye's face, and she lets Trip lead her over to an empty Adirondack chair. She holds his hand and looks out at the ocean, wave after wave after wave. It's peaceful and perfect.

"Can I stay here with you?" Skye asks, her voice puny.

Trip gives her a smile. "Girl, you know that's not going to happen. You've got a big world to go out and conquer."

"I can't conquer. I keep shaking things and breaking things and everyone wants to get rid of me."

"I can't think of anyone who'd want to get rid of you," Trip says. "Why would they? You're smart, you're pretty, you dance like a superstar…"

"And I can pound Mountain Dew-and-vodka shooters faster than anyone else."

"That was an interesting Fourth of July. Also, apparently, you're _modest_."

Skye smiles at him. "I miss you," she says.

"I know."

"I want to stay."

"I know."

"I feel safe here, safe for the first time in… _days_," Skye says. "First I got alien powers and you…" She trails off. "And then I was in quarantine, and then some Kree tried to kill me and Lady Sif tried to steal me, so I shot myself, well, ICED myself, and then May's ex-husband got called in to evaluate me… psychiatrically… and the it turns out I was directing the quakes inward and fractured my arms and ruptured all these blood vessels, and then I was in the Cage for a while and then I was at a cabin to keep me safe… or to keep everyone else safe. I don't know. Then I got sick, and then I got sicker, and now part of me is in a SHIELD hospital trying to kick the bucket."

Trip produces another tall glass out of seemingly nowhere, and hands it to her. "It's not a Mountain Dew-and-vodka shooter, but it's just as good."

"I kinda gave those up," Skye says. "As it turns out, those illegal fireworks that Fitz lit off weren't the only fireworks… those things were just as fizzy coming up as they were going down."

She takes the glass and looks down into it. "A milkshake?"

"What's not to love about milkshakes?"

"I guess nothing."

For a few long beats they sip and sit in silence, listening to the rain and the ocean.

"Hey," Trip says finally.

Skye looks over at him, resplendent in his military garb, and she can't help but smile. _I love his style. I miss him. I wish he could come back with me. I wish…_ _I wish I wasn't the one who watched him die._

"I know you're in some terrifying new place in your life, and sometimes life's like that. There will always be new things to fear, but at the same time there are always new things to conquer. Sometimes those things get sprung on you, like when you find out your former SO was the Hydra poster boy… or when you get sealed in a subterranean temple and blasted with alien mist.

"So you're not the same person. Or that's what you think. _I_ think you're wrong, and I'm going to prove it to you."

"Oh, are you?"

"I sure am," Trip replies. "I've got my mental list of Skye facts ready to go…"

"Daisy," she interrupts him, unsure of why it matters.

"What?"

"That's my real name."

"Come on, girl," Trip says, an easy smile on his face. "You and I both know your real name is the one you chose."

It's true, and Skye just wants him to keep talking. She crosses her legs and leans forward.

"Okay, let's see if you've become some hideous new person," Trip says. "Favorite food?"

"Cake. Although May never lets me have any anymore."

"Still the same. Favorite movie?"

"_Singin' in the Rain_. And _Pitch Perfect_ is a close second."

"Same," Trip sings out. "Favorite place to hide contraband?"

Skye blushes. "What do you know about that?"

"I know you keep snack cakes somewhere," Trip answers.

"Fine, fine, Lola's trunk," Skye says.

"Samesies. Board game you can beat the pants off _anyone_ at?"

"Trivial Pursuit."

"That's the same too. Trust me on this one, Agent Skye, you're just the same as before, with added new shake mode."

He sounds like an infomercial and Skye giggles.

"What I'm saying is, you don't have to be anyone you don't want to be," Trip says. "You didn't play getting into SHIELD by the rules, you didn't become an agent by any of the normal rules, you broke the rules and came back from basically dead, and you don't have to have superpowers by the book either. You think outside the box, and I know this is going to sound absolutely ridiculous based on what you told me earlier about your experiences since we parted, but you don't have to live in one either."

Skye thinks of the quarantine chamber, the Cage, the cabin. "I was just trying to keep them safe," she whispers.

"Then is it so hard to believe that's what they want for you too? Can it be more of a relationship thing and less of a captive and captor situation?"

"I'm scared of me, Trip."

"Well, that's downright ridiculous. You should be scared of breaking everyone's hearts if you don't wake up."

"I don't want to be like this."

Trip gives her a sad smile. "I don't want to be like this either, girl. But we all have our roads to travel, and we don't get to pick which ones we drive on. Sometimes those roads are all uphill and the engine's busted and we have to push the car… and sometimes we get to drive by the ocean, feel the wind in our hair."

Skye goes quiet.

"Can I at least tell you one more thing?" Trip asks.

Skye nods, afraid that if she tries to speak she'll cry.

Trip puts down his milkshake and takes her hand, looking seriously into her eyes. "What happened to me was not your fault."

"But…"

"_Not your fault_," Trip repeats firmly. "I made a choice, and I'd make it again and again. You're worth saving, Skye. You always will be."

He helps her to her feet and brings her hand to his mouth, gently kissing her bruised fingers. "Even if you don't see it, those around you do. They see value in you, and they'll keep seeing it until you can see it too."

Emotion chokes Skye's throat and she forces back tears.

"Now, I've got some things to tell you," Trip says, all business. "First, take those damn gloves off. Casts I understand, but those gloves are nothing but trouble. You don't need prisons – you need… a flashlight. Something to guide you along the path in the dark until it gets light again."

Skye nods, looking up at his face, trying to memorize every inch of it.

"Second, every day you need to show those around you that you care for them. You don't have to say 'I love you,' 'cause let's face it, May would make you do sprints until you puked if you said that, but letting them know _you_ care reminds them that _they_ care.

"And third, you tell Coulson that death's nothing like what he said." Trip grins.

Skye can feel her body getting heavy, and she tries to hang onto Trip's hand. "Trip, can I come here and visit you again?"

"I'll be here any time, girl, but I think you've got some living to do."

He can see that's not the answer she wants, and he leans in and hugs her close. "If you need me, I'll be here."

"I love you, Trip," Skye whispers.

"Come on, girl," he says, and the rain and the ocean and the chairs and the milkshakes fade out, and Skye sinks into blessed unconsciousness, deep dreamless sleep.

* * *

Coulson finishes his Oatmeal Crème Pie and drinks the rest of his coffee. He stands and puts the garbage in the can, then sits back down next to Skye. They're alone in the room; Fitz and Simmons are sleeping in the adjacent lounge and May, if he knows her, is pacing the hallway.

Skye looks the best he's seen her in the past few days. Simmons had completely remade the bed, pillowcase and blanket and sheets, changed Skye into a clean gown, washed the remnants of blood and mucus off the girl's face, cleaned around the bipap mask, and combed the snarls out of Skye's hair. Apart from the mask, the monitors, the IVs, and the general hospital setting, Skye looks just like she's sleeping, the way she does when he catches her on the couch in the lounge having a nap.

She's peaceful, he thinks. Heart rate and oxygen levels finally in the safe range, fever hovering just at a hundred, body relaxed.

"Skye," he says quietly, "when you wake up, we're going to figure this thing out. Somewhere out there there's got to be someone who knows how to work with your gifts. We'll find them, and you'll get control. I know you can. You are the most hard-headed person I know, and yet at the same time your heart is so full of compassion and wonder. You figured out how to make yourself out of the nothing you were given, and we'll figure out how to make you that same kickass person… just in control."

Coulson leans back in his chair, fighting the urge to close his eyes. The room is softly lit and the backbeat of the equipment provides a heartbeat-esque tattoo. One noise confuses him, though at first he thinks he hears just the murmur of the breathing equipment, but then he realizes there's a slightly louder noise underneath it.

"Hmmm…?"

He sits forward in his chair.

Skye rolls her head to one side and takes in a deep breath. She blinks a few times and then sleepily opens her eyes. Upon seeing Coulson she smiles.

He finds himself smiling in return. "Hi, you," he says.

"I saw him," Skye says, or at least that's what he thinks she says.

Coulson leans in and carefully undoes one of the straps holding the bipap mask to her face, making sure to leave it within close enough distance to still provide her with oxygen. "What did you say?"

"I saw him," she repeats, still smiling. "He told me everything was going to be okay."

She holds up her arms. "Can you take these off?"

"Are you sure?"

Skye nods. "He told me I don't need them. Just the casts until they heal, and then… and by then I'll know what road I'm on."

She coughs, and Coulson quickly puts the mask back over her face, reminding himself that she still has pneumonia, even if the other worrisome symptoms have faded.

When the spasm ends, he pulls the mask back down. "Skye, who are you talking about?"

Her smile broadens. "Trip."

Coulson's heart breaks a bit more. "You talked to Trip?"

"It was perfect," Skye whispers, and though she's still smiling, he can see tears in her eyes. "He told me that I don't have to be afraid. He said I'm worth saving."

She reaches up and wipes her eyes. "And he said that what happened wasn't my fault."

Coulson holds back from telling her that he said the same thing. Clearly she needed to hear it from the source. "I'm glad you got that closure."

"He told me I had to wake up," Skye goes on. "He said I've got living to do."

"You do," Coulson agrees.

Skye yawns. "And I think I'll start… after I stop all this being sick thing."

"It's okay if you want to sleep."

Her eyes are almost closed, but then she seems to remember something. "Coulson?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we go home?"

"I'll check with Simmons, but I don't think that will be an issue. Now you rest."

He stands up, preparing to leave.

"Coulson?"

"What is it, Skye?" he asks, giving her a smile.

"Trip said death isn't anything like you said," Skye murmurs. "But he's okay where he is."

She snuggles down under her blanket, and Coulson lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding as he leans in to remove the gloves.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** To celebrate having a panic attack that left me drained emotionally and physically and also made me terribly embarrassed in front of several of my coworkers, I wrote this little chapter. I just keep reminding myself that last Saturday I met Chloe Bennet (and she hugged me), and I smiled for three straight days.

In the next chapter - what will happen when Bobbi, Mack, and "the Real SHIELD" show up?

Thanks for all the reviews and follows and favorites. You guys rock. Enjoy!

* * *

In her first 36 hours back at the Playground, Skye sleeps straight through 24 of them. At first it's as though she's in a coma, sleeping so deeply that Simmons is glad for the monitors recording the unconscious girl's heart rate, oxygen saturations, and temperature. Skye sleeps in a fetal position, her casted arms hugged to her chest, a thin oxygen cannula strung under her nose for breathing support. Simmons goes in and out of the room, pushing medicine through the IV line in the crook of Skye's elbow and gently moving the sleeping girl side to side every so often, as though reassuring herself Skye is really home.

After the first 18 hours, Skye wakes up every few hours to endure the indignities of medication and various treatments – the hated medicated mist and a new form of torture, a vest that cinches tightly around her chest and vibrates her chest wall via two thick tubes that push air in and out of a compressor. She's still gasping for air much of the time, and the treatments to get rid of the build-up in her chest hurt whenever she coughs.

During one of her five-minute awake periods, Skye holds Coulson's hand and mumbles about something. When he can see she's getting drowsy, he says, "I don't want to scare you, but when you wake up again, you'll be back in the Cage on the Bus, okay?"

It's clearly the wrong thing to say. Skye's heart rate jerks up and Simmons bolts back into the room at the sound of the monitor's alarm. "Sir?"

"I was just trying to explain to Skye that we think she'll be safer in the Cage," Coulson says.

Skye wheezes, coughs, chokes, and panics, her eyes going wild. She shoves herself upright and tries to rip off the oxygen tubes. "No," she begs, her voice raspy and scared. "No, _no_ – you can't put me back in there."

"Skye, we want you to get better," Simmons says. "We think you have the best chance of that in the Cage, where you're fully safe."

"_You_ put me in there!" Skye spits. "_You_ drugged me and killed me like you said I killed Trip!"

Simmons and Coulson exchange a confused look. Simmons looks up at the monitors to see Skye's heart rate pounding at 180, and she notes Skye's fever has risen back up, though not dangerously.

Simmons kneels in front of the bed. "Skye," she says softly. "Why do you think we want to hurt you?"

Skye's eyes follow her friend, her breathing getting faster. "_Told_ you," she protests, her teeth chattering.

Her eyes flicker and roll like uncertain marbles and she reaches out for Coulson. He stands and sits next to her on the bed, putting his arm around her and pulling her in close. "Shh, Skye," he murmurs, rubbing her back. He can hear the wheeze in her lungs and the rasp of air going in and out, realizing she's starting to struggle again.

Coulson nods to Simmons and she carefully moves forward trying to replace the slim oxygen cannula with a mask, which will give Skye the best chance to breathe deeply. Skye doesn't let the Brit get any closer to her, though; Skye's hand jerks up and Simmons stumbles backwards.

"Skye!" Coulson barks before he has a chance to think.

Skye pushes herself away from him and everything in the room starts shaking. "No, no," she mumbles, dropping to the floor. Before Simmons or Coulson can get to her, she dives under the bed, curling up into the fetal position that seems to give her so much comfort.

"I'll get May," Simmons says quietly, and she hurries out of the room.

Skye rocks under the bed, chest aching as she sobs. "Please, don't put me away. I'll try harder. I'll be good."

It breaks Coulson's heart all over again. "Shh, Skye," he whispers. Any step he moves towards the bed causes even more things to start shaking, so he carefully backs away.

Skye starts to cough, and Coulson looks up at the monitor, the bouncing red and green numbers meaning slightly more than nothing to him. The coughing rips through her chest and she whimpers as she tries to get more air in.

In the lab behind Skye, glassware wobbles, then crashes to the floor, shattering into tiny pieces. Overhead a light sways, and yet Coulson can hear is Skye sobbing and coughing.

Another moment passes before May arrives, Simmons in her wake. "What is it, Phil?" May asks softly.

Coulson mutely gestures to the bed, the only signs of Skye underneath the monitor wires and the oxygen tubing.

May kneels down next to the bed. "Skye," she says gently, "can we talk?"

"Don't _want_ to go back in the box! I don't want to see them again!"

Simmons approaches Coulson with the tablet monitoring Skye's vital signs, and shows them to him silently. He notes Skye's temperature is rising again.

"She's not getting better," Simmons murmurs. "And the tremors are out of control."

"We can't take her back to the hospital," Coulson says. Of this he is certain. "She wasn't getting any better there either… and I think we broke too many expensive things."

Simmons just looks at him, her expression tired. He realizes, far too late, that she's shouldered nearly all the burden of Skye's illness by herself. Impulsively he reaches forward and squeezes her hand. "Go get some rest, Simmons."

"Oh, sir, I'm fine."

"You look like you're going to fall over. Go sleep for a few hours. May and I can handle this."

It's not the first lie he's told lately, but Simmons seems to take comfort in it. She hands him the tablet. "Agent Jennings understands her treatment schedule, if I'm not back by five o'clock."

Coulson nods and Simmons leaves without further argument.

Coulson looks down at the tablet and all he can think is _God, we're in over our heads_.

* * *

Skye can see May, and hear her, but the world is fuzzy and trembling. "I'm not back there?" she pleads, thinking she's still alone and dying on the floor of the cabin.

"You're home," May says, and her voice is full of kindness and finality. "You're safe."

"Don't put me back in the box."

"No one's going to take you anywhere you don't want to go," May answers firmly.

Skye rocks back and forth, her hands over her ears as tears stream down her face. Each of her breaths seems to take an hour, and pain shoots daggers through her chest and her arms every time she breathes or moves. "I can stay here? Stay here? Not in the box?"

"You're not going anywhere."

"What's… what's happening… to me?"

May reaches forward and then hesitates. "Skye, I want to touch your hand. Would that be all right?"

Skye just looks out from under the bed, her eyes exhausted. She doesn't answer, so May reaches out carefully and take Skye's hand in hers, gently wrapping her fingers around the girl's. She can feel Skye's pulse throbbing in her fingers; the rough straps of the cast and the thin smooth edges of the wires and tubes contrast sharply.

A bottle falls from the lab shelf behind Skye and May freezes, but after a few seconds her touch seems to calm Skye, and the younger agent's eyes begin to droop closed.

Skye asks her question again. "What's happening to me?" she whispers.

"We'll figure it out," May promises, though she has no idea how she can fulfill such a lofty vow.

Skye's grip on her SO's loosens just a tad more, and her breathing is evening out and slowing. "I'm scared," she breathes to May. "I'm so scared. So scared."

"Scared of what?"

Skye puts her head down on her knees and whispers two words that May wishes never would have been on Skye's mind in the first place: "_Of me."_


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** I don't know where all this came from, except that this week has been very stressful at work and I've been reading a lot of awesome fanfic lately, so those two things apparently conspired to create this chapter. Also, I realized in the middle that my story took somewhat of a Skimmons twist if you squint, but that's not where it was intended to go.

Thanks for all your reviews, messages, and favorites! They keep me going and give me something to look foward to in the days after I post a new chapter.

Also, I really hate Gonzales, so I kind of made him a jerk in this chapter (and in possible future chapters). Let me know if you think he's over the top or just right... I'm still trying to figure out where things are going to go after this.

Enjoy!

* * *

Simmons stumbles out of her bunk two hours later and is nearly punched in the face by Fitz, who is clearly ready to pound on her door. "What is it?" she asks blearily. "Skye?"

"It's Mack and Bobbi," Fitz whispers, a panicked look on his face. "They just stormed in here with some old guy and about forty other people. I was in the lab when they came in, but I hid under the table and waited until they passed and they didn't see me but I could hear them talking and…"

"Wait, slow down. _What?_"

"There's a whole bunch of them, and they're going to cut the power, and…"

Panic arcs through Simmons. "We have to stop them. If they cut the power off…"

"Skye dies," Fitz finishes.

Simons nods. "She's dependent on the monitors and the oxygen and the suction to clear her airway… and all of it. But _they_ might get killed if she gets upset and can't control the tremors."

"They're scared of her," Fitz whispers. "They want to take her and…"

"Experiment on her."

Fitz nods.

"We can't let that happen, Fitz."

Fitz shakes his head.

"What's the plan?"

"You have to get down there and tell Coulson and May. Although I'm fairly sure they'll figure it out when…"

An explosion rips through the compound, enough to vibrate all the bones in Simmons' body. "What the hell do they want?" she wonders. A thought occurs to her. "Are they HYDRA?"

"I don't know," Fitz says. "We can figure that out later. If we're not dead."

* * *

"Phil," May whispers, some time later.

"What?"

"Her fever's up again," May replies, shifting Skye's body in her arms. Agents Jennings had been kind enough to come into the quarantine chamber to start the girl's treatments and had determined that further breathing support was necessary. As usual, Skye had fought it, literally kicking and screaming – and shaking everything in the room. Now she lay still and feverish in May's embrace, occasionally reaching up to pick at the mask he'd fitted over her face.

"I know," Coulson says, looking up at the monitor. "What do we do, May?"

Simmons sprints back into the room. "Sir!" she manages to get out. "We've got trouble."

It takes her a few harried seconds to stammer out what Fitz saw – Mack and Bobbi, a group of people ready for some kind of a fight, and the explosion upstairs. "They want Skye," she gets out. "And if they kill the generator like they said they would, she's not going to do so well."

Coulson and May have an extremely brief eye conversation. May speaks first. "We'll go take care of them. Lock yourself in here and take care of Skye."

May gently repositions Skye's body on the bed. Skye mumbles and reaches up for the mask over her face, but her bruised fingers fall short of touching it.

"What will you need?" Coulson asks Simmons.

"Just grab it all," she tells him, pointing to a few stacked bins of supplies. There's no telling how long they'll be stuck in the quarantine chamber, and Skye is nothing if not unpredictable.

It only takes a few minutes to get all of the bins – full of medical supplies but also magazines, a few board games, a deck of cards, and emergency rations of water and food – into the quarantine chamber, and Simmons watches while Coulson pressurizes the chamber and locks it, punching it a pass-code only he knows.

"We'll come back and get you," he says. "And if it's not me, it'll have to be Fitz, and he'll have to reverse-engineer the lock."

_Fitz_. Simmons' heart beats just a tad faster at that. He'd run off to the server room to shut down the computer core, making sure that whatever Mack and Bobbi were after, they wouldn't be able to find it. If he got out with the backups, he was going to put them somewhere secure, but he hadn't had enough time to tell Simmons exactly where that was.

"All right," she says to Coulson, even though her heart is beating nearly as fast as Skye's. She has so many unanswered questions. What should she do if Skye starts to crash? What if Skye's powers get unstable again – can the quarantine chamber explode, or should she just use an ICER? Why the hell would Mack and Bobbi betray SHIELD like this?

"Simmons," May says quietly, as Coulson heads towards the stairs leading up towards the fray, "I promise we'll be back for you. Both of you."

"I know," Simmons murmurs.

"Do you have an ICER?" May asks, obviously thinking along the same lines as she looks at Skye with worried eyes.

Simmons nods. "Two, in fact. And a great deal of other sedating agents, some of which obviously won't be the best choice for Skye since she's already experiencing breathing difficulties, and sedatives tend to depress the respiratory system, so…"

"Good," May says, cutting her off. She gives the girls one final look, as though trying to memorize them, and then hurries after Coulson.

Simmons sighs as she watches them go, unsure why she feels as though she's just lost the last rope holding her boat to a dock, and now she and Skye are drifting out into rough and open seas.

Alone.

* * *

Skye opens her eyes and lets out a feverish hum. Her body feels like several sacks of wet cement, and it's hard to get her brain and limbs to coordinate. She can feel the hated positive pressure mask over her face, and though she hates the way it feels, she can't complain about how much easier it is to breathe. Her skin feels like it's on fire, and she wants desperately to writhe and scratch until the burning subsides, but she can't get her hands to work.

"Hi," Simmons whispers, and Skye blinks at her. "I just gave you something to help with your fever."

"Itches," Skye slurs at her, her mouth somehow not moving in time with her body.

"It itches? Oh, dear." Simmons looks wildly concerned. "You may have had an allergic reaction to the medication, or perhaps your fever is inducing prickly skin."

"Where's Coulson?" Skye asks, but Simmons is already bouncing around the quarantine chamber, pulling open drawers and banging things around.

Skye pushes herself upright and pulls the mask from her face. "Simmons… what's going… on?" she wheezes.

Simmons turns with a packet of Benadryl in her hand. "Put that back on," she orders Skye, something of the old Dr. Simmons in her tone. "Can't you hear yourself try to breathe?"

Skye barks out a cough and the room vibrates around them. "Tell me," she gets out, her airway somewhat clear.

Simmons stops frantically opening drawers and walks towards Skye, her shoulders slumping. "It's Bobbi and Mack," she says quietly. "They've been working for someone else… and they just stormed back in here."

Skye's mouth drops open. "HYDRA?" she manages to squeak.

"I don't know," Simmons replies. "Fitz and I were talking and…"

"We need to go help them!" Skye tries to push herself off the bed and actually gets both of her sock-encased feet to the floor and makes it almost upright before her knees give out and Simmons finds herself grabbing tubes and wires so Skye doesn't yank anything out as she hits the concrete.

"What help do you think you'll be to anyone?" Simmons demands. Her heart is pounding now and she can hear her pulse in her ears, like some sort of demented ocean. "You can't even stand up, why in the world would you think I'd let you go upstairs and get yourself killed? You've got an IV line tunneled into your arm and you're gasping like a fish out of water. What use do you think you'd be to them? Do you honestly think it's in _my_ plan to save your life _again?"_

Far too late, she realizes she's screaming at Skye, and far too late, she realizes Skye has curled herself into a ball again. Simmons can hear the wheezes of Skye's too-fast breathing and she hates herself.

"I'm so sorry," Simmons whispers, kneeling down next to Skye. Her friend has tears in her eyes, and she's scratching at the skin on her bruised and broken arms fiercely. "Shh, Skye, stop."

Simmons gently takes Skye's hands in hers, trying not to put any pressure on the skin. "I'm so sorry," she repeats. "I just… with _you_, and with everyone else being up there, and Fitz went to go shut down the computer core, and…"

Skye reaches up and softly touches Simmons' face. "It's okay," she chokes out between body-shaking coughs. "Can I… can I maybe have that… the mask on?"

"Can I clear your airway first?"

Skye nods, and Simmons suctions out her mouth and throat before replacing the positive pressure mask over her face. Skye leans into the breathing support, and she relaxes against Simmons.

"They said they'd come find us when it's all over," Simmons murmurs, flicking off the suction machine and settling her arm around Skye. Her friend is dangerously warm, like something left in a car on a boiling summer day, and Simmons forces herself to stop worrying and give the medicine time to work. Instead she brings one hand up and awkwardly strokes Skye's head.

"Thank you," Skye mumbles into the mask.

For a few long moments they sit together on the floor; Skye going in and out of a feverish haze, Simmons spending far too much time worrying about what's happening upstairs.

At last Skye speaks. "Hey."

"Hmm?"

"'S all my stuff still in here?"

Simmons brings her head up and looks around, spying Skye's backpack in the corner of the quarantine chamber. "Your knapsack is."

Behind the mask Skye gives her a slow smile. "Will you bring it here?"

Thinking Skye has something terrifically girly, like nail polish or a _Cosmo_ magazine, Simmons sighs, props Skye against the bed, and moves across the room to grab it. She hands it to the hacker and then, when it becomes clear Skye can't get the zipper undone with her fingers, opens the bag.

Skye slides her laptop out and opens it.

"Skye, I don't want to watch cat videos," Simmons groans. "And they've probably knocked out all the communications signals anyway…"

"We can watch cat videos later," Skye says. Her voice is getting stronger, as though just being in contact with something useful is giving her power. "Also, the security cameras run on a separate feed. It's not controlled by the computer core."

"Skye, you're brilliant!" Simmons exclaims.

"Well, not completely," Skye says, looking up at her. "I can't figure out how to type with this hose in my face."

She gestures with her thumb at the thick hose running out from the bottom of the mask. "Can you hold it out of my face?"

Simmons smiles and sits down next to her friend. Though they look like some odd dragon or sea-creature, moving in tandem with the tubes and wires and the bipap hose, Simmons is willing to do pretty much anything if it means they can, in some way, keep an eye on the people they care about the most – the people facing off (_again_) against people they thought they could trust.

* * *

"Phil," the gray-haired man behind the desk says, rising with only some difficulty.

"Agent Gonzales," Coulson answers. "You know that's _my_ desk, right?"

Gonzales waves his hand. "I'm not intending on moving in."

"Funny, that's exactly what it looks like when you blow a hole in my base and storm your way in."

"I didn't want to do any of this."

Coulson looks over at May. May gives him the tiniest of shrugs.

"You know, I think it's strange how people usually say that _after_ they do all the things they supposedly don't want to do," Coulson says.

A flicker of irritation crosses Gonzales' face. "It's time to come clean, Coulson."

"How about you start by _cleaning up_ the mess you made when you set off that bomb?" Coulson knows this is the wrong time for jokes, but he's suddenly desperate to keep Gonzales here.

A quick look at May proves she's thinking the same thing. They have to keep Gonzales away from Skye.

"All in good time," Gonzales replies. "Now, I'm a reasonable man, Coulson…"

"Reasonable would have been a phone call," Coulson interrupts. "A bomb through the wall suggests more psychopathy with a touch of Unabomber for whimsy."

"You're in over your head with all this mindless chasing you've been doing," Gonzales says. "Looking into aliens, and people with powers. Have you forgotten what SHIELD stands for?"

"Protecting the rest of the world from a much weirder part of the world," Coulson answers, thinking of an answer Ward one gave to Maria Hill.

"Protect being the most important word," Gonzales says. "And it's hardly _protecting_ if you let one of them into your base, give her special treatment, and hell – even make her an agent. You've put everyone else at risk, and what's worse, you know it."

It's not the time for it, but suddenly Coulson's remembering all of the training May gave him, once upon a time, on how to breathe with the universe. At the time he'd thought it was a bunch of nonsense, but now he can feel his brain trying to pulse out of his ears and he has to think of _something_ before steam comes out of his mouth and nose like he's some sort of man-dragon.

"Now, I've sent Agent Morse to find your alien experiment," Gonzales continues. "For the safety of _all_ SHIELD personnel…"

"You think you can honestly call yourself SHIELD after this?" Coulson snaps. "Who do you work for, anyway?"

"SHIELD," Gonzales says. "The _real_ SHIELD."

"As opposed to _what?"_ Coulson asks. "Are we SHIELD light? Same great taste, half the calories?"

Again, he _knows_ jokes are wrong in this moment, especially to the face of a man whose plan involved high explosives, but he just can't stop himself. People worry differently – May has chosen silence, so Coulson's going to go with sarcasm.

"I don't know what you are," Gonzales says simply. "It all depends on your actions from here on out."

He moves towards the door. "We're really only interested in two things, Phil."

Coulson decides he doesn't like being called _Phil_, at least not by Gonzales.

"We'll take your alien agent with us, and…"

"She's only half-alien," Coulson gets out before he can stop himself. "She's a hybrid."

May gives him a look that clearly says _You're crazy and you're going to get us all killed_.

"What?" Gonzales turns around.

"You know, a hybrid. Like a Prius. Or that corn that has white _and_ yellow kernels."

Now May's look says _I'm going to slap you later_.

"Also, she has a name," Coulson goes on.

Gonzales sighs. "SHIELD will be safe when she's with us. We'll Index her, run some tests to determine the nature and liability risks of her powers, and we'll figure out a place for her to be released and monitored. And we'll need Fury's toolbox."

Ice cold fear shoots down Coulson's spine.

"We're not too keen on giving you either," May says, speaking for the first time.

"Come now, Agent May. You've seen the destruction those with powers can cause," Gonzales says. "It is for your own safety that we remove possible threats from interfering with SHIELD operations. Right now, _Skye_ is interfering with the well-being and protection of _everyone_."

He says her name like it tastes like chalk in his mouth, then shakes his head and moves towards the door. Neither Coulson nor May stops him.

"Stay here," Gonzales says before he leaves. "I'll have an agent look in on you in a few minutes."

He exits, and one of his goons closes the office door and locks it from the outside. Coulson didn't even know that was a possibility.

But apparently, a lot of things happening today were always possible… just improbable.

* * *

The two girls are sitting so close together, so nearly one symbiotic organism that Bobbi gets within six feet of the glass before Simmons notices her. Due to the mask over her face, her high fever, and the fact that she's obsessively tapping into all of the base's cameras, it takes Skye a bit longer. A not-so-gentle nudge in her side from Simmons gets her attention.

Bobbi looks in at them, two hamsters in a glass cage, and she and Simmons engage in a long stare. Simmons is determined not to speak first, and she finds herself wishing Skye won't speak either. It would just be a standoff, a silent standoff.

Then Bobbi speaks. "Jemma, I need your help."

"Not bloody likely," Simmons mutters.

"Mack was hurt when the bomb went off," Bobbi goes on. "Agent Weaver wants you to take a look at his injuries."

Simmons shrugs off the fact that Agent Weaver is apparently still alive and gives Bobbi her steeliest stare. "Perhaps Mack shouldn't have been anywhere near explosives, and perhaps those explosives shouldn't have been anywhere near our base."

Skye looks up at Bobbi and her breath catches in her chest. For a long moment she coughs and chokes; eventually she has no choice but to yank the positive pressure mask off.

Simmons flicks the suction machine back on and hands the flexible tubing to Skye, who gasps, coughs, and retches, then manages to clear her own airway before sliding the mask back on.

"Leave us alone," Skye says once she can speak again.

"I didn't want it to be like this," Bobbi says.

"You marched in here with a group of armed men and a _bomb_," Simmons says, feeling her blood pulse hot in her veins. "What did you _think_ it was going to be like?"

"All I wanted was to keep the people I care about safe."

"Please see previous comment about armed men and bombs," Simmons snaps.

Behind her, she can hear something start wobbling on a shelf, and she feels more than sees Skye clench her hands. The monitor beeps as it picks up the increase in Skye's respiratory rate, and Simmons forces herself to take a deep breath and stand up, approaching the glass to look Bobbi in the face.

"I trusted you," she says.

Bobbi stares at her for a moment. "I trust you," she says. "And I'm not the one you should be worried about."

She doesn't have to finish that sentence, but Simmons knows exactly who she's talking about.

"This is about Skye?"

Bobbi doesn't respond.

"This is about Skye," Simmons rephrases.

"We just want to take her somewhere safe."

"She _is_ safe," Simmons replies. "In case you hadn't noticed, she's very ill and somewhat attached to all of that medical equipment. Taking her out of here would be a serious detriment to her condition."

She gets closer to the glass, looking Bobbi straight in the eye. "And to be honest, in the last week she's had two seizures, a fever of more than a hundred and eight, and she nearly died on me twice, so even _if_ you figure out how to get us out of here, which would probably involve torture of some sort or another explosive, since you seem to be so fond of those, I swear I will fight you myself. She doesn't need to go with your band of HYDRA vigilantes…"

Bobbi holds up her hand. "Who told you we were HYDRA?"

"It's kind of the thing HYDRA does," Simmons says. "Betrayal, followed by invasion, followed by hurting."

"We're not HYDRA."

"That doesn't matter," Skye says from behind Simmons. "People who want to solve things peacefully usually start with a phone call. Or a lunch."

Bobbi takes a deep breath. "Jemma, you saw what Skye is capable of. She could have killed all of us."

"But she _didn't_."

"Her powers are uncontrollable. What happens if she was to lose control and hurt someone – maybe Fitz? Or Coulson?"

"That is definitely playing dirty," Skye mutters from behind Simmons.

"Right now I'm more concerned about what would happen if she was to have an interruption in her medical care," Simmons answers firmly. "And would I really be in here, apparently risking my own safety, if I was so concerned about her hurting someone?"

"We'll treat her well," Bobbi says.

"Just so you know, I'm not going with you," Skye says. "So you can tell me all about your fancy not-HYDRA prison, but I'm not really interested. Also, the last time I stood up I got woozy in about ten seconds and ended up here on the floor, so at the moment I'm really only a threat to myself."

She's not sure why she's trying to pacify Bobbi, except for a thought deep down that maybe Bobbi will get frustrated with her lack of success and leave.

"Coulson has gone too far," Bobbi says. "He's moved away from the ideals of SHIELD."

"You know what's _really_ against the ideals of SHIELD?" Skye asks. "Betraying the people on your team."

_That_ is apparently the straw that breaks Bobbi's back, and she steps back from the glass. She looks like she wants to say something else, or burst into tears, but only for a split second. Without another word, she turns and leaves.

When it's clear she's gone, Simmons helps Skye to her feet and forces her to lie down on the bed. "Your fever's rising again," she says. "I'll watch the security feeds while you have a nap."

"Find Fitz," Skye murmurs sleepily, curling in on herself.

"I will," Simmons says. She hesitates for a moment. "Skye?"

"Hmm?"

Simmons pauses again and bites her lip. "What I said earlier… about not wanting to save your life again… I didn't mean it."

Skye blinks at her. "I know," she mumbles. "It's just… worrying about everyone."

Simmons nods.

"And besides, you like me," Skye says, and she smiles at Simmons.

"For now," Simmons replies, returning the smile.

Skye's eyes slide closed and Simmons turns back to the computer, begging the cameras to show her the locations and conditions of the people she depends on the most – except for the one now sleeping next to her, kept behind glass with her like they were some sort of rare butterfly collection, priceless and endangered and above all, _trapped_.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** All right, so it's not as long as I wanted to give you, but I'm trying to fix my sleep schedule and get into bed before midnight tonight. In this chapter: feisty!Simmons, Coulson plays cards, and Fitz + sandwiches = making any attack on SHIELD that much tastier.

Thank you to all my readers and reviewers and everyone who adds me/this story to their favorites. I've been trying to respond to reviews and messages this week and I promise I will do a better job replying to everything sooner. I love getting reviews and messages and I (honestly) always answer questions and send thank you's to folks who review.

More soon. Enjoy!

* * *

Simmons finds Fitz quite quickly. He's wearing a knapsack and hiding in the presumably locked cockpit of the Bus. She can only imagine that he's got the computer core backups in his backpack; he has an array of snacks (including a tasty-looking sandwich that she has_ no_ idea how he managed to make during all this) scattered around him and a thick book on his left knee (presumbly to whack either Mack or Bobbi with).

She turns the camera towards Fitz and begins tapping out a message with the "on" light next to the lens, using Morse code. It's short, and she repeats it over and over, hoping he'll see her.

_Are you okay? We are okay._ She knows it's not enough, but what she really wants to let him know is _We're not dead._

At last Fitz notices the camera and watches the message. He gives the camera a thumbs-up. From his backpack he takes out a small flashlight and begins to Morse-code a message back to her. _Skye okay?_

Simmons looks over at Skye. Her friend is curled as tightly as possible, wires and tubes woven around her. The monitors indicate that even with the extra oxygen support, Skye's saturations are jerking up and down, and her fever has crept back up to 104. _She's very sick._

_What do you want to do?_ Fitz asks.

For the first time Simmons feels absolutely overwhelmed. Her training, her experience – none of it will be enough to save Skye. She feels tears wick at her eyes and she squeezes Skye's hand. _I want to go back. To how it was._

Fitz nods.

A flash of movement from the hallway catches Simmons' eye and she looks up, seeing a group of people heading towards the medical bay. Hurriedly she taps out a final message to Fitz. _Got to go. Hang on._

_We'll get through this_, Fitz transmits, and then his flashlight beam disappears.

Simmons hurriedly closes the laptop and shoves it into Skye's backpack.

A few seconds later, an elderly man with a cane and distinguished bearing strides into the room. Mack and Bobbi are behind him.

Simmons squeezes Skye's hand again, and her heart sinks when Skye doesn't even respond, her hand warm and damp and limp. It's as though Simmons can feel the quarantine chamber getting smaller around them. Part of her prays Skye will sleep through whatever this confrontation will be, since any earthquakes would surely prove to these intruders that she needs to be taken away for her own safety; the other part wouldn't mind seeing Skye earthquake-shove this elderly man and the two traitors into next week.

"Good evening, Dr. Simmons," the elderly man says.

Simmons flicks her eyes to Bobbi. Bobbi refuses to look at her. Mack, meanwhile, has his eyes locked on Skye.

"I'm Agent Robert Gonzales," the man goes on. "I apologize that we're meeting under less-than-cordial circumstances."

Simmons forces down any desire to speak. She keeps her fingers looped in Skye's, trusting the rhythm of the machine supporting Skye's breathing. The white noise becomes her ocean, her heartbeat, keeping her head above water.

Agent Gonzales waits as though expecting Simmons to respond. When she doesn't, he looks at first Bobbi, then Mack. Neither of his lieutenants speaks, so Gonzales takes a deep breath and starts again. "We're concerned about your friend."

_I am too_, Simmons thinks. She waits until the urge to say it aloud passes. In hers, Skye's hand twitches.

"She's unfortunately been given powers that are out of her control. Powers that endanger everyone around her – even you, Dr. Simmons. I know you're very fond of everyone here at SHIELD, and I admire that dedication. I know how much you'd like everyone here to remain safe, even Skye."

Again Simmons says nothing, and again the older agent looks absolutely stymied. He looks at Bobbi. Bobbi refuses to look up at him.

Skye whimpers, and her body jerks in on itself. On a shelf behind Gonzales, two beakers start to wobble. Simmons clamps down on Skye's hand, praying her friend can stop the quake before anyone notices it's started.

"Help us keep Skye safe, Agent Simmons," Gonzales says, stepping closer to the glass.

One of the beakers knocks against the other, and Bobbi's head comes up. The blond agent turns her head, sees the beakers, and turns back, locking eyes with Simmons.

Simmons tenses.

Bobbi says nothing.

Skye whimpers and moans, her head rolling back and forth. Under the positive pressure mask Simmons sees her lips moving, and she wants to bend down to hear what Skye's saying. Gonzales' presence prevents her from doing so, though.

Then Skye's voice rises and her head on the pillows begins to thrash side to side. "No, no, _no_," she sobs.

"It's okay," Simmons whispers.

The cabinet doors behind them start to vibrate, and Simmons repeats herself. "It's okay, Skye."

"We want to help her," Gonzales says.

Something in Simmons snaps, and she shoves herself off the bed and towards Gonzales. "You want to help her?" she demands. "You say that's what you want. If you want to _help_ Skye, you'll leave her here with me."

She turns and extends her arm, showing Gonzales Skye's writhing form. "Do you see how sick she is? She's unable to keep her oxygen saturations up to normal levels. She's having trouble breathing and every ten breaths or so her body is forgetting to take a breath. That's what the positive pressure system is for. She has a raging viral infection that's settled into her lungs, a fever of a hundred and six, and she's extremely susceptible to seizures and septic shock. If you take her out of here under the guise of _helping her_, do you know what you'll be doing?"

She takes another step towards the glass. "_Killing her."_

Gonzales takes a wobbly step backwards.

"Do you know who's the _real_ danger in this room? You," Simmons goes on. "You stormed in here with armed guards and a _bomb_, and now you're accosting a sick girl who can't defend herself because you're afraid of her."

"That's not it," Mack growls. "You saw what she did to the kitchen. To the windows. She could have killed any of us…"

"Except she _didn't!"_ Simmons snaps sharply. "You all fear her, so much to the point that you _enjoyed_ when she got sent away – and now you're here trying to take her away from the _one_ place she feels safe, from the _one_ group of people who love her and support her! _Now_, when she's struggling to breathe. That's a coward's way out, Mack."

Mack takes another step towards the quarantine chamber. Gonzales holds his hand up. "Agent Simmons, no one is saying Skye isn't ill. We have medical facilities that will be…"

Simmons interrupts him. "Be what? Perfect for experimenting on her?"

"You know that isn't true," Mack says.

"Really? Who do you even work for?"

Mack looks at Bobbi, who's still keeping her eyes on the floor. "The real SHIELD," he says eventually.

"As opposed to what?" Simmons looks back at Skye, who has gone very still, and then up at the monitors – oxygen saturations are falling, Skye's heart rate is shooting up. Something big is coming; Simmons can feel it in her chest, rattling her sternum.

Gonzales looks around, alarmed, as the glassware and equipment start moving and the lights overhead flicker. "Agent Simmons, you can stop this," he says.

"No," Simmons says softly, firmly. "No, I can't."

"Agent Simmons…?"

"You started this," Simmons says. "So _you_ get to stop it."

And she turns her back on Gonzales and his crew of traitors, just in time to see Skye's heart rate plummet as her friend spasms into a seizure. Overhead the lights shatter and Simmons feels a glimmer of pride start to burn in her chest – a tiny pinpoint saying _told you_ as it blossoms into flame.

* * *

Coulson looks at May. They've been stuck in his office for nearly an hour, four guards standing watch in the hallway. May has stayed mostly silent, cataloguing their various routes of escape, and now she stands at the window.

Coulson lays out another game of solitaire. His skin is crawling with his inability to protect his team; he's desperate to know they're all alive and safe.

May moves towards him and picks up a pad of paper and a pen. She scribbles a message to him: _Fitz is on the Bus_.

Coulson reads it and writes _How do you know?_

May silently points to his computer screen, showing that an hour ago the Bus' cargo bay ramp was lowered.

Coulson nods.

From the hallway there's a brilliant flash of blue light. Coulson looks over, wondering which of his team has gotten loose with an ICER. He rules out Simmons and Skye immediately, and with Fitz on the Bus… it has to be Hunter.

Then the door opens, revealing a tall, elegant-looking woman with scars bisecting her face and a man who seems completely ordinary, except for the fact that his eyes are missing, covered instead by smooth skin.

Almost immediately May is on her feet, reaching for a weapon that one of Gonzales' men relieved her of more than an hour ago. Coulson is a little slower to respond, but he gets to his feet as well. "How did you get in here?"

"Good evening, Agent Coulson and Agent May," the woman says. Her voice is warm, gentle, inviting. "My name is Jiaying, and this is my associate, Gordon."

The eyeless man nods in their direction.

"Do you work for Gonzales too?" Coulson asks.

"No," Jiaying says. "I don't work for anyone."

May and Coulson share a look.

"I'm here on a different matter," Jiaying goes on.

Coulson wants to make a joke about it being tax audit season or ask if they're selling Girl Scout cookies, but something in Jiaying's patient expression silences the jokes before they can leave his mouth. Instead he says, "Yes?"

"I'm here about Skye," Jiaying says.

"We know how ill she is," the eyeless man – Gordon? – says. "We want to help."

"And you are…?" Coulson wants a real answer. If they don't work for the "real SHIELD," they still have to be representing someone's interests.

"We're Inhumans," Gordon says. "Just like Skye."

It takes a minute for Coulson's brain to process that, and another minute before he can ask the two visitors what they mean, and several more minutes for Jiaying and Gordon to explain. When the conversation stops Coulson looks at May. "Did you know any of this?"

May shakes her head. "No."

"The Mist gives Inhumans amazing abilities," Gordon says. "Unfortunately many of them never realize their true potential because their bodies are unable to adapt to the change."

"We don't want Skye to be one of those people," Jiaying adds. "Her illness and its severity are proof that her body is trying to fight the change that has already occurred. It never ends well."

"So you want to… what? Give her some sort of Inhuman medicine?" Coulson asks.

"No," Jiaying says. "We want to take her with us."

"And any member of your team who is overseeing her care," Gordon hastens to add. "There are many things we can do to help Skye's Inhuman side, but continuing the medical regimen she's on now will only be to her benefit."

"Take her where?" May asks.

"Afterlife," Jiaying answers. "And it's not _the_ afterlife – we have no intention of harming Skye or anyone here. It's the English name of the place where the Inhumans have a colony."

Coulson feels like his head has been scrambled by an egg beater. "So you'll take her, make her better, and then what?"

"If she chooses, she can stay at Afterlife and learn to control her powers," Jiaying replies. "Whether she chooses to stay or not, she is always free to return here to SHIELD. Or to go anywhere else she wants."

For a moment the office is silent. Then May speaks, addressing Coulson. "It's what you wanted for her," she says quietly. "You wanted to find someone who could help her control her gifts."

"Turns out they found us," Coulson murmurs.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** Thanks to all the readers and reviewers - you all make me happy to continue writing! Enjoy!

* * *

"So what's the plan?" Coulson asks as the room starts to shake.

He and May don't look up; it's become the new normal for them, but he's surprised to see that neither Jiaying nor Gordon looks concerned by the seemingly random earthquake. Although, he supposes that if your partner was an eyeless man who could teleport, an earthquake might not be the weirdest thing you'd ever experience.

"Your base is under attack," Jiaying says, "so our first plan of action would be to distract these enemies long enough to retrieve Skye and any medical equipment she may need."

"Phil," May says softly from behind him, "are you serious? You're actually considering this?"

Coulson turns to look at her. "I don't want Skye to go," he answers. "But May… we _tried_. Andrew was here – she broke all the bones in her arms. We took her to the cabin, we gave her the gloves, and she ended up nearly dying. I think it's time we realized that whatever this is, it's _far_ beyond our capabilities."

"We can't. We can't let her go," May says firmly. "We'll lose her."

The earthquake gets steadily stronger.

"We don't have a lot of choices," Coulson says, fairly certain that May's heart is breaking in the same way his is – shattering into pieces. "We want to keep her safe, and we can't do that here."

Tears glitter in May's eyes.

"Please," Coulson murmurs.

"Fine," May says at last. "But you're taking Jemma."

It's rare for May to use a first name, and the obvious love and care in that one word makes Coulson want to weep.

Jiaying looks at Gordon, who nods. "That's fine," Jiaying says. "It will be helpful to have someone better versed in the medical side of things keeping an eye on Skye as well."

"Still doesn't answer the question as to how we're getting out of here and through Gonzales' men," Coulson says.

"Or when the shaking will stop," Gordon adds.

It's as though his words themselves caused the earthquake to stop, because the room falls still around them. Before any of them can make a move, the door to Coulson's office bangs open and Gonzales and Bobbi march in.

"Now," Jiaying says to Gordon. He steps forward, grabs May by the arm, and sweeps his trench coat over them both; they disappear in a blaze of blue light.

As Gonzales approaches Jiaying turns to Coulson. "They'll get everything ready. All we have to do is stall."

"Turns out I'm pretty good at that," Coulson says.

He draws himself up to his full height. "Let's dance."

* * *

Skye blinks up at Simmons. The world is tilting again, it's hot and everything seems to be pounding against her ears. "Coul…?" she slurs, the word sucked up into the whir of the positive pressure mask.

Simmons' face is worried. "Skye?" she asks. "Can you focus on me?"

"Coulson," Skye gets out. Her hand clenches and something else shatters. Skye feels sick and tries to roll to one side, convinced she's going to vomit.

She hiccups and manages to lean over the bed. The bipap hose wobbles in her view, further disorienting her, and she squeezes her eyes shut, trying not to cry.

"Skye?" Simmons' voice is so calm. It makes Skye want to scream.

"Off, off," Skye chokes, and her fumbling bruised fingers grab for the bipap mask.

Some part of Simmons' training kicks in, and she yanks off the mask, dragging the garbage can closer to the bed.

Skye tumbles to the floor and has a few brief seconds of the air rushing at her face before she vomits.

"Do you see what you're doing to her?" Simmons demands, striding towards the wall separating the quarantine chamber from the rest of the lab. Since the lights exploded, it's hard to pick out where everyone else is in the room, but she knows Mack is by the door, his arms crossed. "And you want to take her out of here!"

"Stop yelling," Skye moans.

Skye looks up at Simmons. The Brit is splitting into two images, as is everything in the room, and the nausea is coursing through Skye's fevered body. "Something's… something's wrong. Jemma…?"

A bright flash of light flares through the lab. Simmons turns her head away from the flash, finding Skye's haggard face. Her friend looks worried, and things have started to shake again.

When the light fades there are two more people in the lab.

"Agent May?" Simmons asks, hardly daring to believe what she's seeing.

Mack bolts forward from his position near the door, but May's too fast for him. She raises her ICER and fires, and the tall man crumples to the floor.

"What's going on?" Simmons still can't believe what she's seeing.

May darts over to the quarantine chamber. "We're here to get you out," she says.

"You just… Mack…" Simmons can't figure out how to finish a sentence.

"Something's wrong," Skye croaks from the floor, and Simmons turns around.

"What is it?"

"I feel…" Skye's eyes dart around, unable to focus. She's sweaty and her hands are shaking. "Something… oh, _no_."

"Skye?" Simmons kneels down next to her, pulling hair away from Skye's face. "What is it?"

"I don't…" Skye manages to say, and then she slides to the floor. Her arms jerk in towards her body, her back arches, and her head slams against the floor.

Simmons is next to her in an instant, grabbing for a vial of Ativan and a syringe. "Hang on, Skye," she murmurs. "We'll figure it out."

Skye sees the next few seconds as blurry slices of pain and suffocation. Her body tenses and jerks, her chest burns with pain, her arms tingle and her head swims. The room is hot, then it's cold, and her visual field gets narrower and narrower, filled with black and sparkling dots.

"Please," she whispers to Simmons.

Then there's a man standing over her, standing next to May, and she has to be hallucinating again, because he doesn't have any eyes.

"Hi, beautiful," the no-eyed man says, and now Skye's convinced she's gone off the deep end, since her bruised, battered, seizing, _sick_ body is the last thing anyone should describe as beautiful. "Are you ready to go home?"

"Home," Skye mumbles. "Everyone… safe?"

"They're safe," Jemma whispers, holding Skye's hand.

"They're safe." The man with no eyes smiles, and reaches down to gently stroke her hair.

As though his touch is a drug, the moment his fingers touch her head, her eyes close, the pain lifts, and she's somewhere else entirely.

* * *

"What the hell kind of game are you playing here?" Gonzales demands of Coulson, stepping close enough to poke Coulson's chest with a surprisingly bony finger.

"I _was_ playing solitaire before you blew a hole in my base," Coulson replies. He sees Bobbi's gaze flick over Jiaying, and wonders how long it will take for her to bring up the fact that while there's still an Asian woman in the room, it's definitely not May.

"She nearly brought the whole base down!" Gonzales spits, his hands waving in the air.

"What?" Coulson likes playing dumb. It's far too easy.

"The earthquake!"

"That what now?"

Bobbi takes a step forward and puts a hand on Gonzales' shoulder. "He's merely trying to antagonize you."

"It's working," Gonzales grumbles. "I can't believe you people live with this day in and day out – your whole world shaking, everything breaking – it's demoralizing!"

"Okay, so, Skye has broken some lights. And some windows. And about sixty coffee mugs. And… a lot of other things. But she hasn't bombed us," Coulson says. "And honestly, we get those coffee mugs in bulk, so I'm less concerned about…"

"Stop," Gonzales says firmly, putting one hand up. "Your diversionary tactics will no longer be necessary."

Coulson looks at Jiaying. The other woman shrugs.

"I'd like you and Agent May to escort Skye to our facility," Gonzales says. "We'll talk about suitable positions for everyone here once she's been contained."

"I don't think that will be necessary," Coulson says. "I've made other arrangements for Skye."

He keeps his eyes on Bobbi. Until a few hours ago, he would have sworn on a stack of Bibles that she was loyal to him, and even now, with her standing next to the leader of "real SHIELD" (whatever _that_ means), she looks uncertain about her position, as though Gonzales promised something he could never hope to produce. A lot of leaders were that way; Coulson made it a personal goal to aim as low as possible and work his way up.

"Agent Morse, you've been awfully quiet," he says. "Any thoughts on the events of the past day or so?"

"If you're trying to antagonize me, it won't work," Bobbi says quietly. "I made the decisions I thought were necessary to preserve the true mission of SHIELD. I'm not going to apologize for that."

Coulson leans back against his desk. "The true mission of SHIELD? I'm pretty sure there's something in there about not screwing over one's teammates, but I'd have to go back and reread the manual."

That seems to ignite something in Bobbi. "If anyone was going to destroy the team, it would have been _you_, Coulson. Chasing down alien artifacts, investigating people with powers – you were obsessed. You were willing to stretch this team to the breaking point to find something you weren't even sure existed, and people got hurt."

"So you decided the way to handle your discomfort with the situation was to join up with a rogue agency, then allow them to storm our base? Generally the way to handle workplace issues is to speak to one's supervisor instead of showing up with bombs and armed men."

"You jeopardized Skye's life for _nothing_," Bobbi spits at him. "She's terrified of _herself_. She thinks she's going to hurt everyone she cares about – and do you know _why_? Because you took her to Puerto Rico. _You_ were the one… who made her what she is."

Gonzales holds up his hand again. "We can all agree that what happened to Agent Skye is extremely unfortunate."

"We can?" Jiaying speaks for the first time.

Gonzales and Bobbi turn to face her.

"I think the unfortunate thing is that Skye has been isolated, treated like a pariah, and allowed to suffer," Jiaying goes on, her voice modulated and calm. "And now, when she's desperately ill, she's being hunted down like a criminal."

"She's not…" Gonzales starts.

Jiaying interrupts him. "She didn't choose what happened to her. The temple in Puerto Rico activated something in her, something she didn't even know was there. She had no choice in the matter, and now you're all acting as though she has a choice in the way her body is reacting to her new gifts and the changes inherent there.

"Do you _really_ think Skye _wants_ to hurt herself? To hurt any of you? To destroy the place she thinks of as home? No," Jiaying continues. "All she wants is for things to go back to the way they were, and because that can't happen, it's even more frightening and horrible."

Bobbi looks down at the ground.

"I agree," Coulson says after a moment. "Which is why Jiaying and her associates will be taking Skye to a safe place where they can treat her and help her learn to control her gifts."

"That was _not_ the deal we made," Gonzales says angrily.

"_We_ didn't make a deal," Coulson snaps. "You stormed in here and demanded things. And as far as I know, as the director of SHIELD, I'm responsible for what decisions are made regarding _my_ agents."

He takes a few steps towards Bobbi. "For what it's worth, were the situation reversed, I'm positive that Skye would be here supporting you. Trying to help you deal with anything you were facing."

"I'm not Skye," Bobbi says.

"No," Coulson agrees. "You're not. And I feel sorry for you, because even if you had a tenth of her compassion and her generosity, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now."

From the hallway there's a flash of blue light. The door opens and Gordon strides into the office. "We're ready to go, Jiaying," he says. "And we need to hurry."

The eyeless man turns his head to look at Gonzales. The older agent jerks back in surprise, but it doesn't seem to bother Gordon. "If you had taken her, if you had been able to remove her to your experimentation facility, she would be dead. She's nearly there now, in a very low-functioning state, but do you know what the last thing she asked was? She wanted to make sure that everyone she cared about was safe."

"And you're the ones who jeopardized that possibility," Coulson says. "I may be responsible for what happened to her in San Juan, but I swore to her that I would protect her, and I stand by my word."

He looks at Jiaying. "Keep her safe. Both of them, really."

The dignified woman nods. "We'll keep you updated on Skye's condition. I'm sure Agent Simmons will get in touch tomorrow."

"Thank you," Coulson says.

Gordon takes Jiaying's arm and the office fills with blue light. When it fades away, Coulson stands by his desk, looking at Gonzales and Bobbi. "If you'll excuse me, _real_ SHIELD, the director of _this_ SHIELD needs to check on the rest of his team."

He doesn't wait for a response, simply walks through the open door into the hallway.

Neither of them follow him.

* * *

Their strange rescuers have a plane. Simmons isn't sure why she's surprised, but she is. She's also surprised at how gentle their new friends are. The woman radiates calm and peace, and the man, while stolid, is obviously concerned for Skye.

Skye lays on an improvised stretcher in the main cabin of the plane. Simmons sits at her head, her eyes trained on the monitor and the ventilator. The man sits in the cockpit with the pilot, and the woman sits near Skye's feet, surrounded by the boxes and suitcases they'd packed full of medical supplies and personal items, watching both younger women.

"I'm Jiaying," she says once the plane is in the air. "My associate is Gordon."

"I'm Jemma," Simmons says. "Simmons. Jemma Simmons."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Jiaying replies, "although I wish we were meeting under different circumstances."

Simmons gives her a tired smile. After the man without eyes had come into the quarantine chamber, Skye's condition had deteriorated. She'd given up breathing on her own, forcing Simmons to turn off the positive pressure system and switch the machine into ventilator mode. Now Skye's sedated and unresponsive, and Simmons can't help but think it's all her fault.

"You've taken remarkable care of her," Jiaying says. "I know it can't have been easy."

Simmons bites her lip. "Skye's my friend. I'd do… anything for her."

"She's lucky to have someone like you."

_It's the other way around, really_, Simmons thinks. She bows her head, unable to continue the conversation, clinging as gently as possible to Skye's bruised fingers.

* * *

"Trip?" Skye calls into the void. Around her it's white and foggy, and she's completely alone. Her hands and feet feel numb, as though her body is no longer her own. "May? Coulson?"

She isn't sure she _wants_ to see anyone in this space, but something in her is terrified of being alone. "Jemma?"

The mist clears somewhat, and a regal-looking woman with scars on her face approaches. "You're not alone," she says as though she knew exactly what Skye was thinking.

It still doesn't feel right, and Skye takes a hesitant step back.

"Please, don't be scared. I'm here to help you."

"The last time someone said something like that in here, it turned out to be a lie," Skye says, remembering her hallucination of Simmons.

"I don't lie," the woman says, a small smile on her face. "You can trust me."

"I don't even know you."

"But I know you." The woman steps forward and touches Skye's face gently. "I've known you for your entire life."

Skye furrows her brow.

"I'm your mother," the woman says. "And I've been looking for you for a very long time."


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** In which the author can't let anyone be happy and so introduces seeds of terrible plotlines to come.

Or... sorry, I wanted to make this longer, but I'm still trying to figure out where I'm going with this.

Thanks to everyone who reads/reviews/follows/favorites - you are awesome! Enjoy!

* * *

Simmons finds that she can't keep her eyes open, especially not with the white-noise hum of the plane surrounding her. She tries every trick she knows to stay awake, and they all come up lacking. Instead she wraps one arm around the ventilator, so she'll be able to feel _and_ hear the alarms should they sound, puts one foot on the pulse ox and the other on the IV pump (for the same reason), and slips her free hand into Skye's, hoping she hasn't lost the ability to feel a fever through someone's palm. It's not a perfect system, but Simmons finds that she's so tired she doesn't really care. Anyway, she figures Jiaying will wake her if there's any serious crisis with Skye.

She awakens sometime later, the plane still humming beneath her. She realizes she can hear Jiaying and Gordon speaking quietly, and since she has no frame of reference for most of their discussion, she keeps her eyes closed, hoping she'll drift back into sleep.

That release into sleep never happens, because her keen ears pick up fragments of Jiaying and Gordon's conversation, and Simmons turns her head to hear it better.

"… you didn't tell the director everything," Gordon says.

"How could I?" Jiaying demands. "He never would have let us leave with her if I'd told him who I am."

"I just hope this is all worth it for you."

"You think I wanted to take her out of there like this? She's basically comatose, we've got no way of making sure she'll wake up."

A cold knot of fear plants itself in Simmons' stomach. Coulson had made it seem like Jiaying and Gordon had a _cure_ for Skye.

"We'll continue her transition process," Gordon says. "After that, we've got nothing else."

The knot of fear expands into a grabby hand of fear. The man without eyes basically confirmed that she, Simmons, is the only thing standing between Skye and death. It wasn't a bad situation when they were at the base, when Simmons had Fitz to bounce ideas off and trained medical personnel a short distance or a short phone call away, but now she and Skye are on a plane headed God knows where and their backup, their rock, their _family_ is falling farther and farther behind every second.

"I didn't want it this way," Jiaying says.

"No, you wanted her home any way you could force it to happen," Gordon replies. "Sometimes I wonder if you're just as impulsive as your husband."

"_Never_ think that!" Jiaying snaps at him, obviously trying very hard to keep her voice low. "We are _nothing_ alike. Beyond his physical strength he is emotionally defective – you know that. _Someone_ has to be the brains in our partnership."

"Do you think he's going to be happy to see Daisy back with you? Like this?"

"He'll be happy to see Daisy away from SHIELD," Jiaying answers.

_Daisy_. Skye's real name. But how did these people know that? The conversation was quickly giving Simmons more questions than answers.

"Didn't like they were doing too badly with her," Gordon remarks.

"We waltzed in there, told them she had an Inhuman sickness, and walked out with her," Jiaying says. "Not very smart for secret agents, are they?"

"When you teleport into their secret base, I guess they'll believe almost anything you tell them," Gordon says. "And you heard the British science girl – all of the treatments they've been using on Skye haven't been working. Who's to say it's _not_ an Inhuman thing?"

"Because there _is_ no Inhuman sickness," Jiaying mutters, as though Gordon is a slow child she doesn't want to deal with anymore.

Gordon seems offended, because he doesn't say anything for a few minutes. Simmons wonders if she's going crazy.

Finally he speaks, sounding defeated and subservient. "What's the plan?"

"The same as it ever was. Get her back and assess her condition. Work on her gifts – obviously she's lacking control and direction. She's very powerful, but it's all formless and aimless at this point."

"And after that?"

"Get her on our side. Move against SHIELD. Everything we've planned for and worked for."

The grabby hand of fear in Simmons' stomach turns into an entire Blue Man Group of terror and she thinks she might vomit. She carefully reaches down to the bag between her feet, her fingers brushing the sat phone Coulson had insisted she take. It's looking more and more useful, even though their situation has just gone from not-that-great to OH SHIT THIS IS BAD. She gently pulls it from the backpack and slips it into her jeans pocket, thankful for the pile of equipment blocking Gordon and Jiaying from seeing her lower body.

Jiaying and Gordon fall silent, and Simmons turns her head again, looking down at Skye. Under the mask Skye's face is loose and expressionless, her eyelids jerking like she's dreaming.

"Wake up," Simmons whispers to her friend. "Please, wake up. Something bad's going to happen."

* * *

"You're not my mother," Skye says to the woman who has joined in her in her terrifying headspace. "You can't be my mother."

"And you know this because…?" The scarred woman gives her a sly smile. It remains Skye of a snake. Or Raina.

Skye's stomach twists. She doesn't want this woman to be her mother, but at the same time she doesn't want to tell this woman that. This woman seems like she'd tear Skye into pieces.

"I just do," Skye answers lamely. She'd been about to say that after meeting her father, she was pretty sure she'd given up on finding her "real" parents. About to say that she'd decided who her family was, and it didn't involve Crazy In a Suit (her father) or this woman, claiming to be her mother.

"I saw them," the woman says. "I saw how much they care about you."

Skye realizes she's talking about Coulson and the rest of the team.

"I also saw how afraid they are of you."

"I'm afraid too," Skye says.

"You don't have to be afraid."

"Really? Because I fractured all the bones in my arms, ruptured a whole bunch of capillaries, and then ended up in a SHIELD hospital nearly dead."

"None of those things were your fault."

"God, lady, you don't know anything." Skye tries to walk away and then belatedly remembers she's in some sort of hallucination, which doesn't lend itself well to walk-offs or escapes.

"I know that you're not the first person to be scared after their transformation."

"Yeah. Anyone who's _not_ terrified and pissed off after this is crazy."

"I know you blame yourself for what happened to your friend."

"He followed me in there to save me, I earthquaked him to death. Yeah, _of course_ I blame myself."

"I know you think this sarcasm and anger will push me away."

"Why not? You've been with me for exactly _none_ of my life – what's calling you to try to give me a pep talk _now_?"

"I'm taking you home."

Skye lets out a sarcastic laugh. "Well, when you figure out where that is, let me know. I haven't had a home _ever_, unless you count the van I lived in for a couple of years."

"I know, and I'm sorry about that."

"Everybody's sorry," Skye mutters. "Nobody fixes anything."

"Well, maybe it's time that changed."

* * *

Skye opens her eyes and sees Simmons' face bobbing over her. Her throat feels raw and she can't figure out how to get her mouth to work for a few long seconds.

"Hi," Simmons says softly. "If you feel like garbage, squeeze my hand."

All Skye knows is that her body hasn't felt like hers for days. She squeezes Simmons' hand.

"Okay. I'm working on it," Simmons whispers. "And I know this is going to sound trite, but I think we have bigger issues."

Skye raises an eyebrow.

"Do you remember what happened the last time you were awake?"

Skye thinks. Mack, Bobbi, and an old guy; May, an eyeless guy, and a bunch of blue light… and then, nothing. She shakes her head minutely.

"Well, two people claiming they could help you teleported into Coulson's office and somehow charmed him into letting us go with them," Simmons says. "We were on a plane for several hours, and now we're here. I don't know where _here_ is, and that's not the only terrifying thing about this situation."

Skye coughs, and Simmons removes the mask over her face and pulls her upright, whacking her on the back to get out anything she might cough up. The coughing makes Skye's chest ache and for a moment she thinks she's seeing stars. Then the room settles, and she realizes Simmons is right – she has no idea where they are.

After Simmons suctions out her mouth and gives Skye a drink of water, she replaces the mask and Skye lays back.

"I heard them talking on the plane," Simmons goes on, getting close to Skye so her voice stays low. "They don't have any cure for you, and they've got some sort of plan against SHIELD and the woman knew your real name and…"

She looks close to tears, and Skye reaches up and squeezes her hand. "Shh, it'll be okay. We'll figure it out."

Simmons lets out a chuckle and wipes tears from her eyes. "Sometimes I wonder about you, Skye. You've been nearly dead more times than not in the past few days, you've still got a fever of a hundred and three, and for the last several hours you weren't even breathing on your own – and yet you've still managed to make me feel like things will work out."

"They will," Skye says. "We're together. You're a genius… and I'm good at stuff too."

This time Simmons really does cry, and she leans in and kisses Skye on the forehead. "Thank you," she whispers.

They've both fallen asleep when the doors open, revealing the Asian woman and the eyeless man, along with a young man with sandy hair. Skye's been drifting in and out of a doze, awakening mostly when she and the machine stop breathing in tandem, which makes her gasp and choke like she's forgotten she's above water, so she sees them first.

She pushes herself upright and pulls off the mask, ignoring the nearly-immediate tightening in her chest that suggests it might have been a bad idea. The machine lets out a protesting beep and Simmons jerks upright.

"Good evening," the woman says, and she smiles.

Skye nearly passes out, and she grips Simmons' hand very tightly.

"What is it?" Simmons whispers.

"That's… no… that's not…" Skye can't get a sentence together. She feels like she's going to suffocate.

"We're glad to have you here," the woman goes on, either not noticing or not caring about Skye's obvious discomfort. "I'm Jiaying, and these are my associates Gordon and Lincoln."

"That's my…" Skye forces the words out. "In my head. She said. She was my mother."

Simmons looks at her strangely. "I thought your mother was…"

"Yeah, me too," Skye says, "but the events that have transpired in my life recently have shown me that nothing's really what I think."

The woman and the younger man step a bit closer. "Hi, I'm Lincoln," the young man says. "We came to see if you were hungry. We're about to start dinner, and I thought I could bring you two some meals."

Skye can't remember the last time she ate solid food, or what that food was, and her stomach is so twisty that she thinks even the sight of food would cause her to react negatively. But she knows Simmons has been awake nearly constantly over the last week and has probably _not_ been eating, so she turns her head. "We could eat," she says to Lincoln.

"Great," he says, and he smiles. "I'll get you some food."

"Gordon, go with him," Jiaying says.

Gordon looks like he's going to protest, but Jiaying glares at him and he follows Lincoln out without a word.

When they've gone Jiaying sits down on a stool at the foot of Skye's bed. "You must have a lot of questions," she says.

Skye squares her shoulders. She hadn't gotten a chance to deal with Gonzales, couldn't be back at base helping Coulson and May, but she has Simmons to protect, and besides, no matter what anyone says, sarcasm has been her super-power a lot longer than earthquakes. "Sure," she says.

"And I will be glad to answer them all in time."

"Let's cut to the chase," Skye says. "I hear you have a cure – at least, that's what you told Agent Coulson – and I'm pretty sick of being sick. So… this cure?"

Something like anger and hatred flashes over Jiaying's face, but so quickly that Skye thinks she's just projecting. Then she notices how the woman's hands are clenched, and she changes her mind.

Jiaying pulls herself together. "We'll need to have you assessed by our medical team."

"Sure. Assess away. Like, now. Or sooner."

"Has anyone ever told you you're very impatient?"

"You would be too if your body was pretty much on fire. Or if you had that _thing_ attached to your face," Skye says, jerking her thumb towards the breathing machine.

"They're at dinner," Jiaying says smoothly.

"This kind of thing never happens at _real_ hospitals. Like, when I got shot …"

"You weren't conscious for this part, don't kid yourself," Simmons mutters.

"… they didn't have to wait for the doctors to finish their tea and crumpets…"

"It was not a British hospital," Simmons puts in.

"… before they fixed it."

Any traces of any other emotion fall from Jiaying's face. Skye's words have clearly horrified her. "You were… _shot?"_

"Twice," Skye confirms.

"And you were… all right afterwards?"

"Oh, hell no," Skye says. "Things got pretty crazy, but…"

She trails off, looking at Jiaying suspiciously. "Why am I telling you all this?"

"I have a trustworthy face," Jiaying says.

Simmons turns her head and rolls her eyes.

"I'd trust you a little more if you made me less sick," Skye points out.

"I'll see what we can do," Jiaying says.

Skye's tired of the run-around and she pushes herself up further, crossing her legs. Her whole body screams, but she leans forward and looks seriously at the older woman. "If you can't help me, take us home."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Jiaying says, the anger and hatred reappearing on her face, and without another word she stands and leaves the room.

Skye and Simmons hear the doors lock behind her.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** The fact that I haven't written an update for this in awhile finally got to me, so here's an update. It's short because I'm choosing to be a responsible adult and go to bed early, since my school's summer school session picks up again tomorrow morning and I'm so excited to see my kids again that I need to get some rest!

There will be more soon, since I finally figured out where this is all going... or that you would probably all hunt me down and send me through the TAHITI protocol if I made this all a fever-dream of Skye's...

Thanks to everyone who reads/reviews/follows/favorites - you're amazing. Enjoy!

* * *

"We should call Coulson," Skye says after about ten minutes in the dark.

"We don't know where we are," Simmons points out.

"The phone's got a chip," Skye says. "They could find us."

She sounds scared and Simmons can hear her wheezing.

"Put the mask back on," Simmons says.

She can't see very well, but she's pretty sure Skye is pouting at her.

"You're lucky you're cute," Simmons mutters, and hands her the mask.

"At least figure out if there's lights in here," Skye says as she slips the breathing mask over her head.

Simmons does a quick check and finds that, besides the ominous-seeming candles in the corner of the room, there seem to be no other lights. She thinks about bringing one of the candles closer, but then remembers the oxygen compressor in one of the supply boxes and changes her mind.

"Just the candles," she reports to Skye, who's already looking drowsy behind the mask. "And I've got a flashlight in my bag."

"Tell me a story," Skye says.

"What?" Simmons had not been expecting that. She could have handled sixty more questions about lights, or their location, or why Skye should keep the mask on, but she's fairly sure this is the first time _anyone_ has asked her to tell them a story.

"Tell me a story," Skye repeats.

Simmons sighs and performs a round of "doctor" things first – checking Skye's temperature (104), her oxygen saturation (94, but that's with the bipap on and oxygen fed in), her lungs (wheezy and coarse), and the status of the IV meds and fluids (it'll be a few hours before she has to replace them). Then she curls up on the oddly large bed and watches Skye's face.

"Stop… being a doctor," Skye mumbles behind the mask. "Tell me a story."

Simmons senses she's beat. "Fine. Once upon a time there were two princesses, and they were as different as any two people could be. One was a lovely rose, educated at the finest academies in the kingdom, and her head was always filled with theorems and equations and other things most young ladies never thought of. She was honest to a fault, except for a series of weeks where she left her kingdom at the request of the king, her father, to visit a place that turned out to be more evil than anyone could imagine, a place she had to be rescued from by a rogue princess who, for some reason, changed her hair color immediately afterwards."

Skye smiles, her eyes drooping closed.

"The other princess, well, she was like a thistle – yes, it's a flower, but it'll stab your hand and infect you faster than you can blink."

"_Jemma_," Skye groans, so brokenly that Simmons thinks she's dying. "Why do _I_ have to be the thistle princess?"

Relief floods through Simmons as she realizes Skye is just teasing her. "Who said these princesses are us?"

"Because you're not subtle," Skye replies. "And I'm starting to think you haven't told many stories before."

"Well, not all of us were born to be bards," Simmons says. "Some of us have to be wizards."

Skye smiles and opens her eyes, looks around for a few seconds, and then brings her arm up and takes Simmons' hand in hers.

"Yes. Hmm. Where was I? Ah, yes, the thistle princess. Because of an evil witch's spell she had been taken from her kingdom at a young age and forced to live in a caravan. She had no handmaidens or courtesans and there was definitely no jester to lighten her day, until one day she met a young squire named Lance who turned out to be just the fool she didn't know she wanted. This princess spent the majority of her life looking for her king and queen, and for a very long time was unable to find them. Eventually she was brought to a kingdom ruled by another king and queen, and that was where she met the Rose Princess, who became her best friend.

"Then one day word came from another kingdom that the Thistle Princess' father had been found, but that he was…" Simmons pauses, trying to think of a polite way to phrase her feelings about Skye's father. "A bit untraditional. But the Thistle Princess was determined to meet him, and…"

She looks down at Skye, her friend's eyes closed, breathing slowly and in rhythm with the machine, and falls silent. She squeezes Skye's hand and lays her head down, just for a minute.

… _just for a minute_.

* * *

May sets the quinjet down in a secluded valley and looks over at her "copilot" – she's using the term extremely loosely – Hunter. "You ready?" she asks.

"You plucked me from the grasp of about twelve angry men dressed as Captain Hook," Hunter replies. "I will go anywhere with you."

"Yeah, we'll see about that," May mutters. "What were you doing at Disney World, anyway?"

"Escape pods don't really care where they send you," Hunter says. "And how was I supposed to know that area was for workers only?"

"Cast members."

"What?"

"They're called cast members at Disney World, and… never mind," May says. "We've got about five miles of hiking to do before we get to wherever it is they've taken Skye and Jemma."

Hunter turns towards her. "Run this by me again. These people just… _appeared_ in Coulson's office and asked for Skye and you _gave_ her to them?"

"It was the lesser of two evils," May says, shutting down the plane. "Or would you have preferred to storm the 'real SHIELD' and their ship again?"

Hunter shakes his head. "Never mind."

They don't speak much more until they're loaded up and exiting the jet. Then May says, "Remember, these people have powers we can't even begin to understand. Our goal is to get Simmons and Skye out, _not_ to engage in some random firefight with people who could… I don't know, turn you into a ferret or something."

"A _ferret?"_ Hunter shoulders his pack. "You think I look like a ferret?"

May rolls her eyes and walks off into the darkness.

"Or what's even worse, you think someone's power is turning someone into ferrets," Hunter mutters. "God, what a shit power to have. Ferrets _everywhere_."

* * *

The doors open again and Skye's the awake one this time. She woke up to find Simmons completely zonked out beside her, their hands still twined together, and it was the first time in a long time Skye's felt peaceful, or even strong enough to take off the breathing mask. She _hasn't_, mostly for fear that Simmons will wake up and be all doctor-y again, and also because – and she'd never admit this to Simmons – it's easier to breathe with it on.

"I brought you some dinner." It's Jiaying, the woman from Skye's fever dream, the one who had claimed to be her mother.

The one who had locked them in there.

She approaches the bed. Skye sits up and winces, shifting her position slightly to accommodate the ribs she's broken with coughing. She pulls the mask off and reaches over to hit the button that will sound an alarm.

Whatever the food is, it smells delicious, and Skye is pretty sure the last meal she had was macaroni and cheese at the cabin.

Jiaying brings a chair over and sits down, looking at Skye, still holding the containers of food. The older woman carefully holds one of them out in Skye's direction.

"There's enough for your friend, too," she says as she sees Skye hesitate.

"Thank you," Skye mumbles, and she takes the lid off the container. It's too dark in the room to see _what_ the food is, but whatever it is tastes amazing and she has to force herself to go slowly.

"And there's more," Jiaying says with a small smile.

Skye looks up. "I just… I've been sick," she says. "And I'm pretty sure they've been keeping me alive with IV nutrition. This tastes much better. Actually, the fact that it tastes like _anything_ is the best part."

She finds something that looks like a cookie and pops it into her mouth. It has flavors of nuts and raspberry and chocolate, and it's just like heaven.

When the container is empty she looks up at Jiaying. "I'm ready to see the doctor now."

"We'll talk about that," Jiaying says.

"I thought that's why you brought us here."

"It's one reason."

"What are the other reasons?"

"How did you end up with SHIELD?"

"I hacked in," Skye says. "Are you going to answer my questions?"

"And why did you stay?"

"I'll take that as a no. How about this, woman I barely know – you answer my questions and I'll answer yours."

She raises her chin and looks Jiaying straight in the eyes.

Jiaying doesn't bend from the challenge. Instead she stands up, putting the second box of food on the chair, and moves towards the door.

"Is it because you're my mother?" Skye asks.

Jiaying freezes and for a moment Skye curses herself inwardly. What a stupid question. There's no way -

"I'll be back in the morning," Jiaying says coldly. "Perhaps your fever and your wild speculations will be gone."

She leaves, closing the doors and locking them, and Skye sinks back down next to Simmons.

She hadn't said _yes_.

But she hadn't said_ no_, either.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** Yeah, so, this was overdue for an update. I think there will be two more chapters after this.

Thanks to everyone who reads/reviews/follows/favorites. It means a lot to me, and I'm sorry that this story has been somewhat neglected while I cause havoc in other stories (and apparently break hearts and ruin lives, but...).

Also, I watched a video earlier that informed me that two-ish days ago, our favorite cast received the first script for the third season, and I've been nearly dancing around the room while trying to write this, so... that's my excuse.

Enjoy!

* * *

Within ten minutes Skye realizes there was something wrong with the food. Her nausea returns full force and she can't sit up, vertigo spinning the room around her in a way she likes not at all. There's something else, too, something running up her earthquaked arms and pulsing at her earthquaked ribs.

"Simm…" Skye tries to get out, but her throat is no longer her own. "Simm…"

Pain shoots fire up her spine like an electrical charge and her head jerks back, hands clenching into fists nearly immediately. She can hear the crackle and pop of her arm and finger bones and cries out from the pain. "Jemm…"

Simmons bolts upright on the bed and looks over at her, immediately panicked. "Skye? What's going on?"

"The food. The food… something…" Skye whimpers. "It's bad… the food is bad!"

She forces herself off the bed, away from Simmons, because she knows what's going to happen. She can feel the quakes like bubbles trapped under her sternum and she's terrified. They're bigger, they're stronger, and they _hurt_.

"Please… _run_," Skye begs Simmons.

"Don't be ridiculous," Simmons says, and she moves towards Skye.

"_NO!"_ Skye screams at her, flinging her hands up.

Simmons is knocked off her feet and Skye feels like she'll vomit. "I'm sorry," she stutters.

The quake bubbles pop and boil under her sternum. Her head hurts and she curls into herself, trying hard not to vomit.

"Skye, it's going to be all right," Simmons says.

"Hurt… you…" Skye wheezes.

"No, I'm fine," Simmons insists, moving closer to Skye.

A beep sounds from the heart rate tracker on Skye's wrist and she moans as she pulls her arm in.

300 bpm.

_That's really fast._

_No. That's inhuman._

"It's going to happen," Skye whispers. "Simmons, _go!"_

"I don't want to leave you," Simmons says. "You're sick and I don't want you to hurt yourself."

"_Go away!"_ Skye screams.

The entire building is shaking, the floor cracking, the walls crumbling. Skye knows she can only hold in the big quake for a little longer.

"Please," she begs Simmons.

"I'm not leaving."

Skye lets out a wail and attempts to drag her battered body towards the door. She has to get out of there, has to protect Simmons, has to keep _someone_ safe.

The wall closest to Skye shatters into pieces and she whimpers, crawling towards the double doors. As it turns out, the heaviest of locks are no match for her powers and the doors burst off their hinges as though they had somewhere else to be.

Out in the night air Skye falls forward, her body unable to support both movement _and_ quaking. The ground rolls and ripples under her and it feels like punishment, it feels like a hug, it feels like she deserved it –

\- so many feelings and she can't figure out which ones are real.

"Well, ain't you a sight for sore eyes?"

The smartass British accent, even when it's wobbling like a Weeble on a storm-tossed boat, has never sounded so beautiful.

Skye manages to get her head up and smiles at Hunter for what might be the first time in her life. She doesn't even care that he's got a gun pointed at her. Heck, she's _glad_ of it. "Help," she grits out.

"Your wish is my command, doll-face," Hunter says, and he shoots her.

* * *

As soon as the shaking stops Simmons bursts out from what remains of a small shack-like building to one side, and she looks aghast at Hunter.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"'S that any way to talk to a man who came here to rescue you?"

"What did you _do?"_ she demands, looking down at Skye.

"Saved your damn life!"

"You _shot_ her!"

"With an ICER!"

"Hey!" a sharp voice barks from somewhere behind Hunter. "You two _want_ us to get caught?"

May strides up and looks down at Skye. "Damn it, Skye," she says, but there's no malice in her voice.

Simmons throws her arms around May, completely ignoring the fact that the older woman is still holding a weapon and is completely unprepared for the embrace. "How did you know we were in trouble?"

"We didn't know you were in trouble," May says, gently attempting to get Simmons to release her. "Coulson asked us to follow you."

"Wait, you're in trouble?" Hunter asks.

Simmons nods, her movements still jerky with adrenaline and fear. "Skye's mom is here. And she's… they're going to do…"

"Skye's mother is dead," May says.

Simmons shakes her head. "No. She's the woman from Coulson's office."

May and Hunter exchange glances.

"That woman can't be Skye's mother."

"But she _is!"_ Simmons says fiercely. "And she did something to Skye. I think… there was food in the room and I didn't eat any but Skye did and then…"

"Calm down, Hermione," Hunter says. "We're here now. Things will be all right."

"Is that so?" a voice from behind them asks.

May and Hunter turn with their weapons raised; Simmons instinctively moves in front of Skye.

It's the woman with the scars, Jiaying, and behind her, a throbbing mass of other people, other residents of this odd mountain village, other Inhumans. "Seems as though the only one in trouble here is Skye. _Again_. You people won't rest until you've _put her down_, will you?"

Those words arc like flash bombs through Simmons. They're the same ones Skye said to her the day this all started, when she was burning up on the floor of the cabin. "We don't want to put her down!" she says hotly. "We care about her!"

"We are just like her," Jiaying says as she moves towards the foursome. "We know everything there is to know about her DNA, her body's changes, the way she can and _will_ adapt to her powers. You have…"

She waves her hand dismissively. "Nothing."

"We're her family," May says. "And that's enough."

"More than enough," Simmons agrees.

"I just work here," Hunter says.

"You're her family?" Jiaying snorts. "That's rich. _Your family_ was responsible for treating Skye like a criminal. Kept her in a cage. Sent her away. And why? Because you were _scared."_

"You _poisoned_ her!" Simmons retorts.

Again Jiaying laughs. "Poisoned her? Why would I do that?"

"You wanted her to lose control," May says. "Wanted her to kill Simmons."

"And she would have, if you hadn't shot her," Jiaying says bluntly.

Fear reaches up and grabs Simmons, pulling her to the ground as surely as a tugging fist. She collapses in a sitting position near Skye.

"She deserves to be here, with us, learning control and direction," Jiaying says. "SHIELD wants to study her, to dissect her, to figure out what makes her _special_ so they can use it on their people."

"Lady, please," Hunter says, despite May's glares in his direction. "There is no way in _hell_ anyone at SHIELD wants _anything_ roaming around in them that Skye's got. Girl scared the shit out of everyone on the base. And almost got kidnapped by a Kree, but that's a different story."

Jiaying holds her hands up. "Clearly you're not here to take her back. So what are you doing here?"

"Oh, no, we're taking her back," May says. "She's not safe with you."

"Or with you," Jiaying says.

"I don't care if you're her mother," Simmons says softly. "You don't deserve her."

Jiaying steps forward, pushes her way between May and Hunter, and crouches down in front of Simmons. She reaches up and brushes Simmons' cheek with her fingers. "Such a pretty girl. Is my daughter in love with you?"

"She's nothing like you," Simmons says, meeting Jiaying's eyes with fierce anger. "She's kind, and gentle, and funny. She works hard. She cares about people and she wants what's best for them. _All_ of them. And all she's ever wanted was a family. And where were you? Where was her father?"

Jiaying reaches in and yanks Simmons to her feet, shaking the younger woman. "Trying to get her back!"

"You should have stopped," Simmons gasps, feeling as though the life is being sucked out of her.

Jiaying releases Simmons, dropping her to the ground. "She's mine."

"She isn't anyone's," Simmons chokes out. "She _chose_ to stay with SHIELD. _Chose_ to be part of our family. And though we're small, and we're broken, we're _something_, and that's more than you _ever_ were to her."

"You don't know anything about me."

"And you don't know anything about _her_," Simmons fires back.

"Fine," Jiaying says. "Take her with you. Take her back to SHIELD. Cut her up. 'Fix' her. She'll understand when you're through with all of that, understand that you were never her family."

"We're not you," May says.

"Convince her of that. Brainwash her so she believes it. Do whatever you want with her – she's clearly yours for now," Jiaying says. "But this means war. This is not the last you've seen of us."

She turns her back on the agents, and everyone gathered in still and staring silence follows her back up the hill.

"So… we're not invited to karaoke night?" Hunter asks.

* * *

On the jet Simmons holds Skye's hand, saying what she hopes are comforting things in a low voice. Skye's dreams are torturous; she jerks back and forth on the pallet Hunter made up for her, her heart rate pounding at that inhuman rate, her fever rising.

"D' you know what they gave her?" Hunter asks.

"No," Simmons says, her eyes not leaving Skye's face. "But I'm going to find out."

"How d' you figure that?"

Simmons finally turns to him and indicates one of the bags they'd loaded on. Hunter looks into it, seeing two completely ordinary-looking Tupperware boxes.

"That's what they fed her," Simmons says. "And what they wanted to feed me."

"And you can get it from there?"

"Give me twenty minutes," Simmons says grimly, turning back to Skye.

"We're headed back to the cabin," May says over the intercom. "Things got a little… heated at base, and I have to wait for Coulson's all-clear before we head back to base."

"Yeah, apparently 'real SHIELD' caused a whole lot of bollocks for everyone," Hunter mutters.

"And you're surprised that your hell-beast of an ex-wife was in on it?"

Hunter shakes his head. "No. More surprised that she didn't take more of us down with her."

* * *

At first it's not so bad. There's pain, and struggle, and medicine, and everything else Skye hates. But none of it hurts as much as finding her mother, realizing her mother is a monster, and waking up several hours later back in the cabin where the entire shit-storm started.

"Go away," she grunts at May, who's sitting on the bed next to her.

"Not a chance," May says without looking up from the book she's reading.

"I'm dangerous."

"Like hell," May snorts. "In case you haven't noticed, you're casted up to your elbows and you've got more painkillers running through your system than Dr. House."

Skye wonders how May knows that reference, but isn't inclined to get to the bottom of it. "I could have killed Simmons. I was _supposed_ to kill Simmons."

"And yet you failed." May turns a page. "Tell me again how dangerous you are."

May's talking to her like she's normal, and Skye likes that. She doesn't like the nausea rising up her throat.

May doesn't even bat an eye as Skye shoves herself upright; her SO merely holds out a bucket with one hand, the other still holding up her book. Skye heaves and retches, the food that tasted so good going down definitely burning on the way back up.

She lays back down and finally May turns to her, placing a wet washcloth on her face.

"Thanks," Skye whispers.

"You're welcome. Now, get some sleep."

"Hmm?"

"We've got a war on two fronts to fight," May says shortly. "And Simmons is almost done with the medicine she's going to give you to get the rest of the poison your mother fed you out of your system, and you're definitely going to want to be rested for that."

Skye turns to look at May. "She's not my mother."

"She seemed awfully convinced of it."

"She's not," Skye repeats, and she holds May's gaze.

May purses her lips but says nothing.

"She came to get me when she _needed _me for something," Skye goes on. "You came to get me because…"

"Because we love you," May says quietly. "Now, I'm serious. Sleep."

_Love you too_, Skye thinks, but her eyes close before she can get the words out.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** Wrote most of this last night at work, had to wait until I got home from work today to edit it and get the last few paragraphs tacked on. There will be one more chapter after this, so I hope you'll come back for the exciting conclusion to this story!

Thank you to everyone who reads/reviews/follows/favorites - all of your support makes me very happy.

Enjoy!

* * *

"Skye. Open your eyes, Skye."

She can hear Simmons. Or is it May? Someone's talking to her. They want something from her.

"Skye."

Someone's hand is on her wrist. Someone else is tapping at her face. She can't really feel the rest of her body. She just feels hot. Really hot. Her lips are dry. She wants some water.

She tries to make her mouth form the word "water."

"Skye. Open your eyes."

Whoever it is, they sound upset. Skye can't remember why. She can't remember much of anything, except that she's thirsty. And her head is pounding; she can hear her pulse in her ears.

Her mouth tries to form the word "water" again. She thinks she's figured it out.

"Skye." That's another voice. A voice she remembers. He can't be here.

Her mouth now tries to say "Trip."

"Skye, you have to wake up," Trip says. "They need you."

"Water," she says.

Trip shakes his head. "No, Skye. You have to wake up."

"Water," Skye repeats.

"Open your eyes," Simmons says – Skye can hear her clearly now – as she pats Skye's face. "If you can look at me, you can have some water."

Skye rolls her head towards the voice and blinks. Her eyes burn. "Water," she says, though what she wants to say is _Ouch_.

"_Skye_," Simmons repeats, and the tapping on her face intensifies.

"Jesus," someone else says, the accent somehow different. Not Trip. Hunter. "What's her fever at now?"

"It's at one-oh-seven," May says. "And her heart rate is approaching three hundred. Simmons, tell me this is going to work."

"I have no idea," Simmons says.

"Trip," Skye mumbles.

The room gets very quiet. Skye reaches out in Trip's direction. "Trip? We go?"

"Give her the medicine," Hunter says.

"Water," Skye says, and she grabs onto whoever's holding her hand, gripping those fingers tightly. "Water, Trip. I want water."

"Give it to her," Hunter repeats.

"I didn't have enough time to test it all the way," Simmons says. She sounds worried. "And I made it in the kitchen of a…"

"Trip, water," Skye says. She rolls her head towards May. The room spins around her and the lights burn her eyes.

"Simmons, we don't have time for you to worry about whether or not it's perfect," May says, her voice somehow gentle despite all of the chaos in the room.

"Trip's here," Skye says to May.

The hand on hers tightens, and May says, "You tell that man we miss him, okay?"

"Her breathing's evened out," Simmons says. "Maybe the extra fluids we pushed are enough."

"Her breathing's evened out 'cause she's bloody _dying_," Hunter snaps. "She's talking to Trip and far as I know, he's still dead."

"But she's not shaking anything," Simmons points out.

"Because she's _dying_," Hunter says firmly. "Girl's got no shake to quake."

"Water," Skye says to May.

"Soon," May promises.

"Be gone soon," Skye says. "Water now."

"You're not going anywhere," May says. "Simmons, give the medicine to her. Hunter's right. We have nothing to lose at this point."

"Okay," Simmons says.

Skye opens her eyes and sees a blurry version of Simmons moving towards her with a syringe. "Thank you," she says to the scientist.

"For what?" Simmons asks, freezing.

"You took care of me," Skye says, and she tries to get her hand up to touch Simmons' face. "Thank you."

The needle slips into her arm and she grimaces. It feels like fire running up her arm.

"Trip?" Skye murmurs.

"I'm here, girl. Just rest."

"Okay," Skye says, childlike and docile, and she makes sure her hand is tight in May's before she closes her eyes again.

* * *

"She's still hanging on," May says to Coulson. "But we're out of options."

"I know," Coulson says. "I'm trying to get in touch with someone who might be able to help. But my connection's through Fury, so it's going to be a bit."

"As long as we're working on it," May says.

"We are," he promises.

"Phil."

"Hmm?"

"She was talking to Trip."

"The last time she did that it seemed to calm her," Coulson says.

"I don't know if that's what happened here," May says. "She just sort of passed out."

Coulson sighs. "No leads on her mother?"

"She said it was war," May answers. "There wasn't really a lot of time for discussion – Skye was ill and there's not much you can say to that kind of thing."

"Inhumans against us," Coulson says. "Sounds like the kind of thing I'm not interested in dealing with at the moment."

"Speaking of things we're not interested in dealing with… is 'real SHIELD' still there?"

"They _really_ are," Coulson replies. "It's actually funny in some ways. Gonzales has basically one facial expression. Bobbi is convinced she's going to find Fitz if she has to evacuate the entire base."

"He got out?"

"He did," Coulson says. "I sent him on an errand."

"And Mack?"

"He's stalking around barking orders at the 'real SHIELD' goons because he's pretty mad you shot him." Amusement tinges Coulson's voice. "Bold move, Melinda."

"He deserved it," May says.

"I'll tell him when I see him."

"Do that."

"Anything else?" Coulson asks.

"Simmons thinks this is all her fault."

"She knows it's not, right?"

"Some part of her does," May says. "But she's convinced that because she can't _fix_ Skye, she's inadequate."

"She's a biochemist, not a doctor skilled in treating Skye or people like her," Coulson points out. "This doesn't make any sense."

May doesn't reply to that. She's not even sure what to say.

"Why would Skye's mother want to kill Simmons?" Coulson asks.

"She really didn't like Skye's closeness with Jemma," May answers.

"Did you mention that mere days before, Jemma advocated for ending the lives of people like Skye?"

"Wasn't the time or the place."

"Either way, I'm glad they're both all right."

"Me too," May says quietly.

"How's Hunter?"

At that May cracks a smile. "Let's just say we're going to have to cancel the SHIELD trip to Disney World."

* * *

The sun rises over the little cabin and Skye is still breathing.

Simmons isn't sure how. She hasn't left Skye's side. Their fingers are laced together, and Simmons can feel the heat rising up through Skye's palm, and the speeding pulse of Skye's racing heart.

"Slow it down," Simmons whispers to Skye.

"Jemma." May's voice comes from over Simmons' shoulder. "Go get some sleep."

"I'm all right," Simmons says.

"There hasn't been any change in hours," May says. "I'll wake you if anything happens."

Simmons turns to May, her eyes glassy with tears. "I need to stay."

"You can stay," May says. "As long as you sleep here."

She hands Simmons a pillow and a blanket.

"Sleep… here?"

May nods. "The bed is big enough. Just lay down. I'll wake you if anything happens."

Simmons looks at Skye. "I did this," she says to May.

"No," May says firmly. "No one did this."

"I told her I wanted wiped out," Simmons sobs. "I said she was wrong. I said she was a freak."

"No," May repeats. "You have done nothing but your best to help her. Sometimes people get sick, and sometimes…"

Emotion chokes her. "Sometimes people get sick, and there isn't anything to be done."

May takes a deep breath. "You have done everything you could for her, Simmons. There is nothing more that you could have done. Lay down and get some sleep, okay? I'll let you know if anything changes."

She doesn't know what possesses her, but May leans in and kisses Simmons on the forehead.

The younger woman looks up, her eyes still shining, and says, "Thank you."

May nods shortly.

Simmons lies down next to Skye and curls in towards her friend.

May can't be sure, but she swears Skye's breathing gets easier, slower, less agonal. Maybe just a little bit.

* * *

Coulson hangs up the phone and a second later the door opens, ushering in Bobbi and Gonzales.

"Come back for round two?" Coulson asks.

"Who were you talking to?" Gonzales barks.

"Another member of SHIELD lite," Coulson answers.

Gonzales' brow furrows. "Yes. Let's talk about that, shall we?"

He limps over to the chair across from Coulson's desk and sits down. Bobbi stands behind him.

"We still haven't found Mr. Fitz," Gonzales says. "Give us time."

Coulson looks over at Bobbi.

She looks out the window.

"And I know you sent Agent May to pick up Agent Hunter," Gonzales continues. "So that leaves you with… what?"

"There's Raj in the garage," Coulson says, completely deadpan.

"What?" Gonzales frowns at him.

"It's really his name," Coulson says. "It just works out that he's a mechanic."

"Your time here has come to an end," Gonzales says.

"In the office? I suppose you're right," Coulson agrees. "I'm kinda hungry. I think I'll take a stroll down to the kitchen. Agent Morse, can I interest you in a Snapple? Or some Cheez-Its?"

"I'm all right," Bobbi says.

"Walk with me anyway," Coulson suggests.

Bobbi glances at Gonzales. He gives her a shrug.

"I'd be happy to accompany you," Bobbi says.

They walk into the hallway. Coulson closes the office door and they proceed down the corridor to the kitchen.

"Are you going to tell me what this is about?" Bobbi asks.

"I just want a Snapple and some Cheez-Its," Coulson says.

"I know you sent May and Hunter after Skye and Simmons."

"Hmm."

"Mack's figuring out where Fitz went," Bobbi goes on. "We're not going to let this happen."

"It already happened," Coulson says. "I'm sorry that 'real SHIELD' seems to just be playing catch-up."

"Skye is dangerous," Bobbi says sharply.

Coulson stops abruptly. "Right now she's dying of an Inhuman poison in Fury's Retreat, Agent Morse," he says, giving her a piercing look. "Right now, 'real SHIELD' is her biggest danger. She's not dangerous. _You_ are."

"She wouldn't be in this mess if you hadn't been obsessed with those alien symbols," Bobbi hisses at him.

"It wasn't the kind of thing I could just turn off," Coulson says. "And I think this would have caught up with Skye sooner or later. At least, that's what our two Inhuman visitors imparted when they were here."

Bobbi shakes her head.

Coulson heads into the kitchen and opens the fridge. He takes out a Snapple and hands it to Bobbi.

"I don't need one," she says, but she takes it anyway.

Coulson takes out another Snapple and opens it. He takes a long drink and then looks at Bobbi. "So what's the goal here, Agent Morse?"

"The goal?"

"What do you and 'real SHIELD' intend to do here?" Coulson asks.

Bobbi puts the Snapple down on the table. "You'd have to ask Gonzales."

"But I'm asking you."

"Why did _I_ join Gonzales?" Bobbi asks. "I wanted to get away from searching for answers that don't exist, pursuing things that don't have any relevance to our true mission. I was tired of seeing people who trusted you having their lives ruined."

Coulson twists the cap back onto his Snapple.

"Your team failed to contain Ward," Bobbi goes on, "putting everyone else in danger. Chasing after people with powers was what caused Fitz and Simmons to end up at the bottom of the ocean, leaving Fitz with brain damage and Simmons forced to infiltrate HYDRA. Skye started out as a security risk and now she's been literally transformed into a risk to everyone around her."

"SHIELD is dedicated to protecting the rest of the world from the much weirder world," Coulson says. "Sometimes we're the rest of the world. Sometimes we lose people close to us. Friends. People who are more than friends. We don't have a choice in this."

"Except that we _do_," Bobbi says fiercely. "You had a choice. _May_ had a choice. She should have put you down before you got violent, before you led us all to Puerto Rico, before Skye changed and…"

"This isn't my fault entirely," Coulson says, keeping his voice quiet. "I understand how it could seem that way, and I'm sorry for that."

"You can't win me back this way."

"I'm not trying to," Coulson says. He picks up his Snapple. "It's obvious you've already made your choice, and I respect that."

He tucks the Snapple into his suit coat pocket and grabs the box of Cheez-Its from the cupboard. "I've made my choice as well, Agent Morse, and that choice is to protect those who have given nearly everything to protect SHIELD. All my agents out there, the ones who 'real SHIELD' would like to hunt down, interrogate, test, classify, and in some cases, exterminate, they've given their all for the mission, no matter what that mission was. So you can make your choice; I'll respect it. I'm hoping you'll respect mine."

With that Coulson strides out of the kitchen, leaving Bobbi standing behind him.

* * *

"Simmons."

The voice is quiet, but Simmons rolls immediately towards it. "What is it?"

"Something's changed," May says.

Simmons sits up hurriedly and looks over at Skye. She doesn't have to ask what the change is; she can hear it. It's Skye's breathing – it's slow and even.

"When did this happen?"

"A few minutes ago," May says. "Is this… is this good?"

Simmons gently takes Skye's hand in hers. Skye's palm and fingers are cool with no indication that just mere hours ago the girl was nearly boiling from the inside out. A quick check of her pulse confirms Simmons' theory, as Skye's heart rate is eighty-five, a normal baseline for someone who is relaxed.

"It's very good," Simmons says.

May looks relieved.

Simmons gets out of bed and finds her kit, beginning a quick examination of Skye's condition, narrating for May what she can. "Her lungs sound clear, perhaps just a bit of a rattle but that's to be expected. Blood pressure's normal. Temperature is normal. Respiratory rate is normal. Oxygen saturations are at ninety-eight percent. And… _oh_."

"What is it?"

Simmons carefully picks up Skye's arm and gently pulls back the cast, exposing Skye's arm and confirming her theory. "The bruises are fading. And I think that if we were to do an x-ray, we'd find evidence of healed or healing fractures. I would hesitantly say that Skye will have very few, if any, lasting effects from this illness. Even these fever blisters might fade in time."

She turns Skye's palm towards May, showing her an arc of tiny hard bumps running from the knuckle at the base of Skye's pointer, skimming past Skye's thumb, and ending at the base of Skye's hand, nearly at her wrist.

"Your drug worked," May says.

"It's possible," Simmons says.

"It's all right to take credit for doing something well, Simmons," May points out.

"I agree," Simmons says. "But in this case we have no idea. It could be the antidote. It could be the antibiotics, fluids, and intravenous nutrients we provided. Or…"

She trails off and sighs.

"Or?" May prompts.

"Or whatever poison made Skye so violently ill, perhaps in combination with the antidote, reset something in her system. In her transformed cells," Simmons says. "Her mother was trying to exacerbate her powers beyond all reckoning, I was trying to stop that process… somehow together we pushed the reset button on Skye's body. I don't understand any of this."

"I don't either," May says, "but the good news is, it happened. Skye's still here. We can all figure it out together."

Simmons nods slowly. "I suppose you're right."

She seems unhappy despite all of the positive news, but both women are prevented from further contemplation by a small movement from the patient on the bed.

"Skye?" Simmons says quietly.

"Hmmm," Skye replies. Sleepily she rolls her head towards May. "Oh, hi."

"Hi," May says.

"I'm hungry," Skye says.

"We'll work on that," May promises.

Skye turns her head to the other side. "You fixed it," she says to Simmons.

"We fixed it," Simmons says, "and we're going to make sure it stays fixed. And somehow, we'll get a handle on your abilities."

She squeezes Skye's hand.

"I'm hungry," Skye repeats.

"I'll see what I can dig up in the kitchen," Simmons says, standing up and repacking her kit. "Is there anything that you fancy? I always like to have pancakes, but I suppose after being sick you'd probably want some…"

"Simmons." May cuts her off.

"Yes?" Simmons turns back to the bed.

Skye is fast asleep again, a blissful smile on her face.

* * *

Fitz looks up at the tall building before him. Strangely, he's not nervous. He had the entire flight to be nervous, and standing here, at his destination, he feels nothing but prepared. The weight of all the responsibility he'd been given isn't crushing him; it's like armor, holding him up against the dragons that are undoubtedly coming for him.

He reaches up and grips his backpack straps. The entirety of SHIELD's computer cores are in there, along with some snacks and a book and a few gadgets. Half of the mission will be protecting those cores. The other half can't start until he walks through the front doors and into the unknown recesses of the building.

He's got all the documentation he could possibly need; Coulson had let him know that "someone" had called ahead to announce his presence. Now it's time to carry out the rest of the mission.

Fitz steps forward and tugs the door open, striding into the marble-floored lobby. A woman with strawberry-blond hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail looks up at him. "Can I help you?"

Fitz swallows hard. "I'm… uh… I'm with the… uh… Quake Project," he says, giving the code name Coulson had come up with mere minutes before his departure from the Playground, the one Fury was supposed to pass on to these people who were supposed to be expecting him. If all the connections had been made, this entire thing should go smoothly. "And I'm here to talk… to talk to Dr. Bruce Banner."

"May I tell Dr. Banner what this is about?" the woman asks.

"Yes," Fitz says. "SHIELD has a gifted individual who needs his assistance."


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N:** To explain why I haven't been writing much recently, on this story or others...

This previous Sunday one of my students, a young woman who I have been with for two years, who I have cared for in her home and at the hospital as well as at school, passed away suddenly. She wasn't _just_ my student - she was my friend, despite all of her medical issues and her severe developmental delay. I love her like a sister. She had been going through some medical issues since January and came home with a lot of new equipment. This last round, she had been home two weeks and two days when she passed.

I am heartbroken and shattered and unable to focus on much of anything. Everything feels wrong. I miss her so much that it's hard to breathe.

So I haven't been feeling very inspired and I haven't had any desire to write. I'm working on a scrapbook for her parents and a slideshow for her memorial service and I'm pretty much a wreck.

I don't know when I'll be back to full speed. This is the last chapter of this story, but I'll be working on writing chapters for my other stories as well, depending on how things are going. I'm gone to Portland next week (18-22 August) and will have Internet access there but no real plan for writing.

Thank you to everyone who reads/reviews/follows/favorites. I really appreciate all the support.

* * *

_Six months later_

"Jemma, let's go! The plane's landing!" Fitz hollers down the hallway.

Jemma looks up from the microscope. She'd completely forgotten that this was the day she and Fitz and May were heading off to the Avengers' headquarters to see Skye, and to hopefully bring her back to the Playground. So many things had happened since Skye's illness and Fury's willingness to find someone who could train her. Jemma and Fitz had watched, horrified, as a battle in Sokovia against an evil robotic army had nearly resulted in the destruction of that entire country. They'd heard about a new gifted individual joining the Avengers. Fury kept them pretty well-informed, but at the core of it all Jemma just missed Skye.

_Such a pretty girl. Is my daughter in love with you?_

No matter where she went, Jiaying's words still echoed in Jemma's head.

"Let's go!" Fitz hollers again, and Jemma takes off her lab coat, picks up her backpack, and heads out to meet the plane.

She makes it out to the landing bay just as a gorgeous, confident-looking woman with red hair strides off the plane. "Good morning," she says. "I'm…"

Fitz interrupts her. "You're uh… you're…"

"This is Natasha," May says, looking only slightly amused. "Nat, this is Leo Fitz, our lead engineer, and Jemma Simmons, our biochem specialist."

Natasha Romanoff shakes their hands in turn. "Jemma," she says, holding the girl's hand just a little longer.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Jemma says.

"Skye talks about you all the time," Natasha says, and she smiles.

_Such a pretty girl. Is my daughter in love with you?_

"I miss her very much," Jemma says honestly.

"She'll be very glad to see you. Let's get going."

The ride to the new Avengers' training facility is relatively short. Jemma busies herself looking over Skye's files; someone at the base has been kind enough to forward them onto her.

Skye had been taken to the facility in a kind of half-sleep; she was able to be roused for food and water, but her words were slurred and she had a difficult time focusing her eyes or getting her arms and legs to move in the ways she wanted. The first week at the base had been passive range-of-motion therapy and letting Skye sleep off the remainder of the foreign substances coursing through her veins – the poison from Jiaying and the antidote Jemma had slapped together. She was carefully monitored, all of her vital signs checked regularly, and given nutritional supplements, since during her illness she had lost nearly twenty pounds.

Once the drugs wore off Skye moved onto more strenuous rehabilitation. She worked first on standing, then walking with the aid of a walker or a cane. Her arms and legs still didn't cooperate all of the time, but Skye was focused and determined. Within a few weeks she had returned nearly to baseline, at least with her physical abilities. Other therapeutic exercises enabled her to focus her eyes, and brought back the majority of her fine motor skills.

Then the work on controlling her powers had begun. As it turned out, Dr. Banner had been unable to assist in Skye's case, since after the battle of Sokovia he had disappeared into thin air. A report from the training facility let the team at the Playground know that someone else was consulting on Skye's case, and that she was making remarkable progress.

"Wonder if Captain America'll be there," Fitz says as Jemma looks up from the files. "Or maybe Thor."

"Thor went back to Asgard," May says.

Jemma and Fitz both turn to look at her.

May shrugs. "I like to be kept in the loop. Also, Sif was in the vicinity a week or so ago assisting with an Asgardian weapon we found, and she mentioned he had returned home for a bit."

"Or Hawkeye," Fitz allows. "Any of them, really. I'd love to see how their uh… their…"

"Equipment?" Jemma offers.

"Right. Their suits, their weapons… it's fascinating stuff."

"We'll be on the ground in less than five." Natasha's voice echoes over the PA system.

The base is located in the middle of a lush green forest, and Jemma likes it immediately. She sees cadets running on an outdoor track, and another group of young men and women practicing at an archery range just beyond that. Fitz nearly bounces with glee when he recognizes Clint Barton, better known as Hawkeye, working with the students.

"Skye's in here," Natasha says, leading them into the minimalistic building and down an open corridor. "At least, she _should_ be, if she hasn't badgered her way out of exercises and gone for an early lunch."

"You go," May says to Jemma as Natasha moves on ahead, opening a door.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," May says. "Fitz and I will go drool over something."

"I don't drool," Fitz protests.

Jemma smiles.

"You were the one who took care of her," May goes on. "You deserve to see her first. And if she's doing as well as they say she is… she'll be back with us in no time."

"Okay," Jemma says softly.

"Do you think Hawkeye'd let us shoot his bow?" Fitz asks.

May grips him firmly by the elbow. "I don't know," she replies, "but I hope I'm there when you ask him."

Natasha pokes her head out of a door at the end of the hallway. "You coming?" she asks Jemma.

Jemma nods. "Of course."

The training room is much larger than she was expecting; it looks like it could be a racquetball court in any other type of facility. Instead it's just large, with a high ceiling and gray rubber mats on the floor; high above there's a few skylights and some windows, indicating a place that observers could stand and look in on the action. As she enters she hears a voice, strongly accented. "Try again. This time, think little."

It sounds like _leetle_, and it makes Jemma smile.

Skye has her back to the door, and Jemma takes a minute to study the setup. On the far end of the room, a young woman with long dark hair stands in a defensive stance. She's wearing a black dress, a red jacket, and black boots that remind Jemma of the ones Skye liked to wear. Around her neck are some dangly necklaces. In short, she looks nothing like the skilled trainer Jemma was expecting. She looks like the snarky outcast in a teen movie.

"Wanda Maximoff," Natasha says quietly.

"The new gifted?"

Natasha nods. "She's very powerful."

She looks completely ordinary to Jemma, an impression that remains until she raises her hands and pure red energy bolts out of them, winging towards Skye.

Jemma moves to warn Skye, to call out, but Natasha's hand on her arm stops her.

Skye raises her hands, one out to each side, and she _pushes_ gently, sending the energy back to Wanda.

"Very good," Wanda says. "See? _Leetle_ is no problem."

"Big is no problem either," Skye says, but there's laughter in her voice.

"_Da_, I know this," Wanda says, rolling her eyes. "Or have you forgotten you crack my sternum first time we train?"

Jemma can't see Skye's face, but something in her knows it's gone bright red.

"And I tell you I'm sorry every day!"

"Bah!" Wanda waves one hand. "Sorry, sorry – is all I hear!"

For a moment Jemma feels intensely jealous. Skye obviously has a deep relationship with Wanda, and it's built on things Jemma can never share with Skye. Skye is happy to be with the Avengers, happy to be with Wanda – what right does Jemma have to make her come back to the Playground?

"Wanda," Natasha says. "Can we take a break?"

"Yes," Wanda replies. "There is girl in corner has missed you very much."

Skye turns around. At the sight of Jemma she beams. "Oh, _hi!"_ she squeals, and bounds over to Jemma, throwing her arms around the Brit.

"Hello," Jemma says, a bit stunned by the effusive welcome.

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

"Because we haven't been in contact since you got here," Jemma reminds her. "No cell phones, no email."

Skye pulls back, looking worried.

"But that's fine," Jemma says. "You had a lot of things to take care of."

"I missed all of you every day," Skye says. "Especially you."

_Is my daughter in love with you?_

"I may have had an ulterior motive in coming in here," Natasha says. "Skye, Cap's wondering if you could come fix the wifi again."

Skye groans, rolling her eyes theatrically. "What's he trying to watch this time?"

"I think he was really getting into 'Orange is the New Black,'" Natasha answers.

"He crashes the wifi every day," Skye murmurs to Jemma. "Honestly, it's like being with Coulson. Just… a taller, more physically impressive Coulson."

Jemma has to smile at that. "Go, fix it," she says. "I'll find Fitz and May."

"I can take you to them," Wanda offers.

Skye leaves with Natasha, and Jemma hesitates, trying not to stare at Wanda.

"Is all right," Wanda says. "I can see what you are scared of."

Jemma frowns.

"I peeked," Wanda goes on. "Is intrusive and wrong, but… people are boxes. Filled up with so many things, some spill out."

"You were in my head?" Jemma can hardly believe that.

"Just a little," Wanda says, and Jemma hears _leetle_ again.

"That's very rude."

Wanda shrugs. "Could have been worse."

"My head is private," Jemma says, trying desperately to keep anger from slipping into her tone. "As are most people's."

"Why are you so afraid to tell her of what you feel?" Wanda asks.

Thrown completely off balance, Jemma can only gape.

"Is it because her mother was one who put thought in your head?"

_Is my daughter in love with you?_

Wanda studies Jemma.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jemma stutters.

"Hmm. Or is it perhaps you are afraid she will reject you?"

"That's none of your business," Jemma snaps.

Wanda tilts her head, seemingly unaffected by Jemma's outburst. "When she first came here, I look inside her head. So much problems. So much confusion, and anger, and sadness. Twisty wires, she would say. Very much memories of a cabin, of being sick there, of thinking she was dying."

Jemma remembers all too well.

"Then after this… you. Memories of you," Wanda continues. "Of you making her well."

"I couldn't make her well," Jemma mutters.

"Always you were there," Wanda says. "This is what matters to her."

"That's not love, that's…"

Wanda cuts her off. "Sacrificing your well-being for one who is weak and powerless is love."

There's something in her eyes that makes Jemma believe her.

"So maybe… before you take her home, you tell her," Wanda suggests.

"I thought she wanted to stay here."

Wanda shakes her head. "There is nothing for her here. She can control powers. Her body is strong again. Her mind… that will take time, but is much better for her to be around those she knows while that is worked on."

Jemma says nothing, her mind now flitting through every horrible moment of Skye's illness. Everything she couldn't fix. Every time she thought she would lose Skye. Everything that happened at Afterlife, every quake Skye caused, every high fever, _everything_. It floods over her like a wave knocking down a surfer, and she goes weak in the knees.

Wanda grabs her and they slide down to the floor together. "Is all right," Wanda says gently.

Tears roll down Jemma's face and she's not sure where they came from. "All I wanted," she manages to get out, "was for her to be safe."

"This is what she wants," Wanda says. She looks down at her hands and then back up at Jemma. "May I show you something?"

Jemma turns to her, face wet with tears.

"Will require me to go inside," Wanda says, touching her own temple. "Will not hurt."

Jemma can't think of anything she'd like less, but something in Wanda's caring tone makes her think that whatever it is, it must be important. She nods.

Wanda brings one hand up and tendrils of red flow from her fingers towards Jemma's head.

_They're back in the cabin, the two of them, lying on the bed together, Jemma sleeping. Skye is finally peaceful, and calm, her fever down, her heart rate slowed, her oxygen finally normal. She looks at Jemma, a small smile on her face, seeing her friend relaxed for the first time in weeks. There's love in that look, and joy, and gratitude. All of Skye's feelings rush in towards Jemma – there's so much care. The feelings are delicate, and uncertain in places, but Jemma knows in that moment that Skye feels exactly the same way about her that she does about Skye._

Wanda pulls back from Jemma and waits until the other girl looks at her. "You see?"

"That was…" Jemma thinks. "That was a really good moment. She was better. I finally felt like I had done something right."

"Think you have done something right all along," Wanda agrees. "Now you tell her."

She helps Jemma to her feet and indicates the door. "Think she will have the computers fixed by now. Until the American man breaks again."

Jemma pauses. "Wanda?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you for taking such good care of Skye. And thank you for all the work you've done on her powers. She's… she's so very important to me, and I knew there would be things in her life I could never really understand… and you came in and showed her those things."

"She is a wonder," Wanda says. "It has been great honor to work with her. She needs more than I can give but it is enough, a start."

She starts to speak, then shakes her head.

"What is it?" Jemma asks.

"I was just thinking of someone I loved very much," Wanda says, a bit shyly. "And what he might say of your sudden understanding of your feelings for Skye."

Jemma looks at her expectantly.

Wanda smiles. "He would say 'You didn't see that coming?'"

* * *

Jemma finds Skye in the kitchen of the facility. Fitz and May are nowhere in sight, and Jemma's glad for that. She needs to get the words out.

"Skye," she says.

Skye turns towards her. She looks so healthy, so _normal_, that Jemma can't believe that a short time ago she was basically in a coma. "Want an apple?"

"No. Well, maybe later," Jemma allows. "First I want to talk to you about something."

"Okay," Skye says. "These apples are really good."

"Yes. I believe you."

"Were you talking to Wanda? Isn't she great?"

"Yes. She's very nice."

"She's been working with me since I got here. Did you know she was imprisoned by HYDRA? Her and her brother, and they both…"

Jemma can't take it anymore, and she blurts out, "I'm in love with you and I have been for quite a while now."

Skye freezes, and the apple she'd been holding drops to the floor. "You're… what?"

"I just… I've always cared about you, and since taking care of you when you were sick, and Wanda showed me in my head, and…"

Skye cuts off the rambling, pressing her lips to Jemma's.

"Oh. Well then," Jemma says when Skye pulls back.

Skye laughs. "How very British of you, Agent Simmons."

"I'm a woman of many secrets, I'll have you know."

"Oh, I know," Skye says, a devilish glint in her eyes, and she leans in again.

Jemma hears Jiaying's words again – _Is my daughter in love with you?_

And this time she shoots back an answer – _Yes._

* * *

**fin.**


End file.
